


Book I: Alban Arthan, (Light of Arthur)

by Embrathiel



Series: The Druidic Cleansing [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drama, F/F, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Romance, Transgender
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-01-26 07:10:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 24,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21370210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Embrathiel/pseuds/Embrathiel
Summary: The magical branch of the Druids, leave behind their anonymity after hundreds of years of segregation from the magical world, to rescue Harry Potter from the graveyard at the end of the Tri-Wizard Tournament.  Their ambassador rescues him from a Voldemort that is far more powerful than could have been expected thanks to secret access to the ancient magics of the world.  The magical world must cope with a rising Dark Lord, the resurfacing of the Druid magic and culture, and a fracturing in the highest levels of the political world.  Amongst all this, Harry Potter makes a discovery that threatens to uproot their knowledge of the world and self.  With the introduction of powerful magic once thought dark, and shifting perspectives in the most powerful minds, the magical world is held up by the scarce few who recover from the backlash in time to save it.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Harry Potter
Series: The Druidic Cleansing [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1540591
Kudos: 11





	1. Chapter 1: Cornerstone of the Future

She could not return home, not, at least, until her mission was complete. The fear was delicious in its potency and the sixteen year old Druid allowed herself to savour the unnecessary emotion before blotting it out with more urgent needs.

Daela strode between the silent tombstones, letting their whispered sorrows pass over her mind and away. Steady moonlight shone down in watchful audience upon the graveyard, Daela’s white garb seeming to shimmer as would a spectre of the past. The peace which Daela felt beneath the moon’s glory was soon to be ripped away, and yet she could not help but revel in its short-lived gentility.

Her mother’s tears, her mother’s anger at the fools who had caused her to have to send forth her only daughter.

Ahead,, a ring of black-garbed figures faced inward as the shadow of the world ranted and raved over his victory. She could no longer sense insanity from him but apparently the desire to gloat in manic monologues was an inherent part of his persona. Beneath her tall boots the timid grass bent, blessing her passage with the hope of her banishing the shadow. None of them would notice her, not yet anyway.

The greater magical world as a whole was not prepared for the firestorm they had unleashed upon themselves; and it was her duty to make them burn even more so that they could rise greater than before from the ashes. That was, at least, what Vretha, her mother’s phoenix had said when the visions first struck the High Priestess, so she presumed it must be accurate.

As she watched, Tom Riddle’s new body extended an arm to the sky and fire bloomed about him. The yew wand rested unneeded in a limp hand, proving to all about him what the Druids had known to be true from the start. The self-proclaimed dark lord cackled with glee and brought his arm down to point at the lone grave marker within their circle. Two thin strings of fire leapt forth and seared through the ropes binding Harry Potter to the stone before puffing in to smoke. The boy collapsed to his knees before shakily pushing himself back up. Daela could feel his terror, his uncertainty. Was he ready for this? Perhaps in courage, but not in skill.

“Kneel before me Potter! For I am greater than any has imagined me to be.” Tom’s words seemed to physically strike Harry, the boy twitching in response. He stood tall and defiant however, proving to be stubborn if not strongly averse to letting fear control him.

“No.” Harry’s voice shook but was just loud enough for Daela to hear.

“You defy me boy? I have powers you have never heard of. I must thank you for part of it however as it is of course your doing. Ignorance breeds glory for those who overpower the fools child. In this game you have lost. Now kneel before me before I make you.”

Harry did not move. Tom sneered and flicked his wand sending its brother through the air in to Harry’s hand.

“Then you shall die like the fools who spawned you.”

And this was her duty, her time, her fate.

Tom cast forth a stream of fire toward Harry who would have no idea how to counter it. Daela extended her hand and invoked the powers of earth and water, raising an earthen barrier between the two. Had it been purely soil, the fire would have melted it; but with water imbued within, Voldemort’s assault faltered. The fire struck her barrier and sizzled, steam rising, but the wall held. Surprise appeared on Tom’s face and when the barrier still remained after several seconds, he cut off the stream. His wand began working through the air and tombstones were transfigured in to snarling wolves. Their bodies lit with hellish fire, they began to circle Harry.

The Death Eaters spread out, answering an unspoken command from their master as he wove magic about himself. Harry was still looking about him, as if expecting to see his saviour, but it was not time for that yet. Daela had to admit as she watched Tom sending sparks of magic in to the space about him that he was no push over. The sparks he cast were a myriad of spells, pre-prepared and pre-cast. If he had his way, he would be able to send a hailstorm of curses at Harry simultaneously. Such a setup Daela had never seen, and hardly even considered possible. It reminded her vaguely of the small swarm of fireflies that had hung about her mother a short time ago, but nothing so dark could truly mirror something so pristine.

The young Potter cast bludgeoning hexes at the hounds to little effect so Daela called the moisture from the air and doused the creatures, forcing water in to Tom’s creations so they reformed in to mud and collapsed.

“Appear before me! Who dares interfere,” Tom bellowed.

Wind whipped through her long red hair and with all her strength, Daela yanked Harry and the body of the fallen teen towards her. The violence of the wind kicked up dust, obscuring all but a few meters around them. Tom screamed and light bloomed high above. Ravens that trailed sparks swarmed outward in an expanding ring, casting their light about as they sought out the intruder. With a thud, the two boys rammed in to her body and just as a screaming raven dove at her, Daela extended a hand, forming a shimmering dome of emerald light about them. Her shield shuddered and a small tremor moved through the earth as the fiery bird collided with her barrier. Through the transparent dome and the dust cloud, she watched as the swarm of spells was unleashed upon them like dozens of angry hornets.

Daela’s world was reduced to explosions of light and twinges of pain as Tom’s power hammered at her shield. Harry pressed close to her side, his wand arm trembling as he looked on in awe. Only a few seconds in to the assault, he cried out and pointed as the robed and hooded figures stepped up to the edge of her dome, surrounding them completely. Directly before her, Tom’s pale face glowed green, hardly a worse visage than he already was. Daela fought for awareness. She was having trouble focusing after such sharp pain and an equally devastating drain of her power.

“Your people have made a grave mistake in sending you to this place tonight child. I will destroy you, and then I shall rip their secrets from your mind and ravage their home.” With that, Tom raised his hands, one filled with fire, the other holding his glowing wand. At his signal, a circle of wands were raised, a myriad of spells preparing to bombard her. Now it was time to go. She could not have fought them off any longer anyway. As it were, her body tingled with small shocks of pain, a sign that she would no longer be able to sustain the shield no matter how badly she wanted to do so.

With a hand on Harry’s arm and the other holding the fallen boy’s wrist, Daela sent her magic throughout them and pulled. There was no crack, no squeeze, no, anything really. One second she was staring in to gleaming red orbs and the next they were in an open space before the entrance to the maze, surrounded by panicking people. This was her next test, her next trial. Daela forced her breathing under control and drew in what remaining magic she could without having more time to recover the energies within her. The image of power was important here. She could not let herself appear weak or lacking in situational control.

\----

Hermione watched as the judges gathered around the entrance to the maze, gesturing wildly and casting all sorts of diagnostic spells that she ached to learn. Something was clearly wrong but they had not made any announcements. The commentary had said that Harry and Cedric had touched the cup and vanished but nothing since. Obviously it was a portkey but wasn’t it supposed to bring them to the entrance? Or was this a second part of the challenge? Honestly, the stupidity of these tasks being entirely unobservable by the crowd was astronomical. Clearly the announcer had some manner of watching the participants, but why couldn’t that be shared with everyone who was there to do just that? She didn’t like being unable to watch over her friends. With the trouble Harry and Ron got themselves in to on a regular basis, Hermione felt she’d rather developed a complex about these things. Reckless boys.

The crowd was restless and everyone was talking excitedly as if it wasn’t clear that something was wrong. She gave up on waiting and began making her way through the crowd. Hermione ignored the glances as she rushed down the stairs. They must think her some kind of arrogant child for thinking to engage the judges while they were working. Well maybe she was but Harry might be in trouble again.

It was as she reached the pitch that the wand waving halted, expressions of shock overriding the concern on the faces of the witches and wizards before her. A flare of light came from her left and three people impossibly materialised before the crowd. The witch was unknown to her, dressed all in white and standing tall even after the chaos of magical travel. She had a hand gripping Harry’s elbow, barely keeping him from falling over. The last was Cedric, but he wasn’t moving. He lay sprawled beside them, motionless. Was he injured? She barely heard the screams as she ran forward, noticing that Professor Dumbledore was doing so beside her. Before they could reach Harry though, the woman raised a hand. A wave of force pressed against her, slowing her to a stop. The headmaster likewise was forced to halt. What?

The stranger spoke, and her words filled the stadium. “I insist that no one panics. There is no immediate danger here. Please, let only those who need to be involved approach at this time.”

The pressure let up and Hermione pushed forward, keeping her wand at her side.

“I am Albus Dumbledore, the headmaster of this school. Please explain what has happened while the healers take a look at my students.”

She shook her head, “That will not be necessary sir. The death curse struck down Mr. Diggory and I can heal Mr. Potter myself.” She closed her eyes and a trickle of light coursed along her arm and entered Harry. Instantly he brightened and stood taller, looking more alert. His clothes were torn but he seemed otherwise whole.

Cedric dead? This was why the event was originally unwelcome. Students should not be dying, students should be safe. Who was this woman to heal Harry without a wand? In fact, none of the magic she had done seemed to require a wand. Could she really be that powerful? She looked to be a teenager still, so who was she? Besides, everyone knew you couldn’t apparate inside Hogwarts grounds. And why was she so emotionless about Cedric’s death? Whether it was the frustration, fear, or upset at the boy’s death, even Hermione’s eyes were beginning to tear up. How could this woman not even seem to care?

“My name is Daela, Professor, and I was sent to rescue Harry from Tom Riddle who has reclaimed a body this night and called his followers to him. I would speak with you and the Minister as soon as possible. Harry should join us as well.” She said.

“You were sent? Could you be one of the…”

Daela lifted a hand to forestall the headmaster’s next words. “please, I shall tell you what I can, but not in a public setting.” Hermione saw Daela about to continue, then she closed her mouth, her eyes caught by something. Quicker than she would have thought possible, Daela sprang to the side and extended an arm. A focused beam of light leapt from her palm and Hermione whipped around. The light was focused on Professor Moody’s arm, and the man was screaming something awful. Before their eyes and in a matter of seconds, the man’s body rippled and took the form of, someone else. What? The light was bright upon his left forearm, his sleeve burned away, revealing the Dark Mark, black against his flesh. Dumbledore’s wand began to move and the man before them was bound and fell to the ground unconscious.

“Apologies Headmaster, but I sensed him hiding his true form and the taint on his arm. Please forgive if I acted out of turn.”

“No, no, I,” Dumbledore seemed shocked, his eyes locked on the unconscious body. “Yes, we must speak. Please come with me, Harry you as well if you please.”

Hermione stopped listening. Everything was happening so quickly; Cedric dead, Voldemort returned, this new woman, Moody was an imposter. What what what!

She followed them, barely noticing as they collected the Minister, the unconscious man floating beside the headmaster, and as a crowd of people surrounded Cedric’s body. She wasn’t sure how so much could happen all at once but it was Harry’s life after all. As the Minister approached, so too did two dementors, bringing a chill and terror with them. They stopped when they got too close to Daela and when her eyes fell upon them they fled in to the skies. Cornelius Fudge, blustering out questions stumbled after them. Dumbledore suggested silence until they reached the castle and was, of course, obeyed. She wasn’t really supposed to have followed them, but Hermione couldn’t leave Harry in this state. Where was Ron? Perhaps she should have tried to get him to follow her out of the stands, but her mind had been rather stuck on making sure Harry was safe. After that, there had been so many people crowding the area that finding even the tall redhead might have proven difficult. It couldn’t be helped now though. Perhaps she was so used to the three of them being in these messes together that caused her to forget. Hermione decided there and then that she would demand better of herself in the future when regarding her friends. It wasn’t Ron’s fault that he wasn’t as quick to jump to panic as she. He tended to show his concern in other ways.

As she followed, Hermione looked again at Daela. The young woman was tall and most certainly gorgeous with red hair that fell to her hips. Her garments were all white, from her knee-high boots to her tight trousers and elegant tunic. She couldn’t have been much older than Hermione, yet she walked with a grace and confidence, as if she possessed all the power in the world. Perhaps she did, if she could stop Dumbledore in his tracks. Her clothing was strange however, closer to non-magical clothing fit for a warrior in past ages than anything she’d seen in the wizarding world.

Their small group passed through the deserted castle and made its way up to Professor Dumbledore’s office. He conjured chairs for everyone before lowering himself in to his cushioned armchair. It was difficult to hold her attention on the group. Having never been in the office before, Hermione was overtaken by the myriad of whirring instruments, the over-full bookshelves, and the phoenix observing them all from its perch. With a flourish, the headmaster proffered a bowl of yellow candies.

“May I offer anyone a lemon drop,” he asked with a twinkle in his eye.

No one accepted. With a smile the headmaster popped one in to his mouth before twining his fingers together on his desk. Only then did he seem to notice that Hermione was there.

“Ah, Ms. Granger. I presume you are here because of your friendship with Harry? Or was there something else you wished to discuss?”

“Yes Professor, that was all. I didn’t think to ask if I could join you,” She began.

“Yes, I should say so.” Hermione flinched as the Minister’s eyes fell on her. “If this is such an important matter Dumbledore, I should wonder why this girl is allowed to sit in on it. Why don’t you go back to your classmates.”

“I want her to stay.” Harry seemed to have come out of a daze himself and was sitting tall, his eyes on the Minister.

Dumbledore clapped his hands. “Ah, there we have it. You are most welcome to stay Ms. Granger. Now, Daela, you said your name was? Please tell us what you can of this evening.”

Daela crossed one knee over the other and rested her clasped hands upon them. “I should start a bit earlier than that if you will permit headmaster. My mother is the High Priestess of our people. You were about to ask earlier, yes, we are Druids.” Cornelius began to interrupt but she raised a hand. “We have remained in seclusion as the Wizarding world as a whole is not prepared to receive us and our magic. The only reason I was sent is that Tom Riddle poses a much greater threat than anyone realises. So I am here to aid you, and ask for your assistance in the coming war. Also, your law enforcement official should be here for this as much will be shared that is relevant to her duties.”

\----

Voldemort lowered his hands when the figures inside the green shield vanished. Somehow they had escaped, somehow that girl had interfered, somehow that girl had held him off. He wasn’t a fool however, the strain on her had been more than amply clear when their powers had directly contested. there had been pain in her eyes when his curses struck her shield. The girl could not have held out against all of them. But how had she done it? From within a held shield no less, the girl had disapparated without doing so, and taken both Potter and the dead boy.

Voldemort turned and stalked back toward the site of his father’s grave, his followers scattering and dropping to their knees all around him. Before his reincarnation he might have killed one of them to vent his fury, but now that seemed more than harsh. It would be a waste, if not of a life then of a useful tool, however stupid. If the girl could leave, she could return, and the last thing Voldemort needed was Albus Dumbledore trying to fight him here. Though, it would be a very different battle this time.

With a sweeping wave of his wand, the cauldron and its contents vanished and the ropes on his father’s grave faded. He saw the glimmering silver cup out of the corner of his eye and could not hold back the smirk. Idiot girl had been too busy fighting him to think of it. Well, Voldemort was certainly not going to leave a tool wasted on the ground. He stalked over to the portkey that led directly through the Hogwarts wards and began chanting a spell.

He needed to hide this from the old man. The fidelius was too powerful, and it could not be used to hide something so small. If that were possible then anyone could hide just about anything. The world would implode. Instead, all he needed for them to do was not consider the device, forget that it was important. So he performed a modified version of the Fidelius charm, a smaller spell that would only make his enemies skip over the cup as if it were insignificant. Erasing it entirely from their memories would be suspicious. This, however, this was genius.

While it galled him to know the girl could escape from him in a way he knew not, Voldemort was glad for the initial conflict. He had been able to use a little of his new power and test it against one that clearly understood how to fight him. The girl wasn’t a Druid by appearance, no. One could not simply pick a Druid out of a crowd by their looks. She exuded an energy though, one that someone of his talents could sense. The way she held herself, the shield she used, the way she fought against his fire and hounds. Without a wand and without casting spells she had utilised the elements and summoned a shield of energy manifested in the world as she designed it.

There wasn’t much to know about them. The Druids had hidden away some time ago. To one in his circles though, there was enough to get by. Enough to modify the horcrux spell. Enough to know a Druid child when he fought one. He would have to destroy them; clearly they knew what he had done and were interfering as a result. That girl would have to be broken as an example. No one stood up to Lord Voldemort and lived. No one spat in Lord Voldemort’s face and survived to savour the memory.

This, this would take time. His plans would have to be reconsidered. It was very well that his sanity was returning to him. Other avenues of immortality could be explored once Voldemort was beyond stopping. Better, more powerful methods that did not rely on simple objects to remain hidden.

\----

“Absolutely absurd!” Daela groaned inwardly at the Minister’s outburst. “I don’t know where you came from girl, but you do not simply waltz in here and make up stories to feed to us. I need hardly address just how foolish it would be to believe you. The Dark Lord returned? Dumbledore, you can’t take this, this, child seriously.”

“It seems Cornelius, that Ms…” Albus held out a hand in her direction.

“Ermaine. Daela Ermaine,” she supplied.

“Thank you. It seems that Ms. Ermaine would hardly generate a story placing her as a member of the Druids. I have not heard of anyone foolish enough to do so without backing up their claim. Before we address Tom’s return, would there be anything you could do to provide evidence of your claim Ms. Ermaine?”

Daela was intrigued by the headmaster’s clearly false claim disguised with just enough ambiguity, but felt it was better to let it be. She gestured lightly as her left hand tapped her booted knee. “I must admit Professor, that I have no interest in attempting to convince someone of my heritage who has already determined that they have no need to display even a modicum of respect towards someone under the age of seventeen. It just so happens that I can very easily make clear my claim, and will do so at a later date during a separate conversation. For now, it would be prudent to discuss the more important matter of Tom Riddle’s reincarnation. May I display the events within the graveyard?” Hardly diplomatic. Daela knew that her idea of diplomacy was not exactly gentle. She would word statements as best she could, but neither would she refrain from making statements that would upset others if what she said was needed. A flaw she hoped would fade as she grew older.

“You see! She disrespects even me…” spittle flew from Cornelius’s lips but Albus cut him off.

“I well agree that we are all interested in the lineage of the Druids Cornelius, but Ms. Ermaine is correct. We must determine what to do about these most recent occurrences. If you would my dear. I can provide a Pensieve. But ah, I nearly forgot.” Albus stood and moved over to the fireplace. With a pinch of powder he sent the flames to a dazzling green and called, “Office of Amelia Bones.”

A brief pause, then, “Yes Albus?”

“Ah good evening Amelia. I have our Minister as well as some persons of interest here and we were hoping you might come and meet with us about the events this evening.”

“I’ll be through in a moment.” Then, mumbled as if unintended for their ears, “Bloody sporting events. Something always happens.”

Daela saw Harry stifle a smirk at her comment as the formidable woman stepped through the emerald flames. She, unlike the twitching Minister, presented an image well deserving of her office. The stony look upon her face was minimised by eyes that softened slightly upon seeing students present. Her robes were immaculate and straight, yet of a quality that had they been mussed, it would not have dampened their elegance. Her office had seemingly aged her as a magical individual of her age should not appear so old.

After taking in the room with a swift glance, Amelia turned to the headmaster. “What can I help with Albus?”

“Ah, it seems we have a Death Eater in our midst who has likely been impersonating out chipper Professor Moody for the duration of the school year. As much as I would happily manage this at the start, I feel that as you are here, perhaps we could send him back to your office for interrogation while we deal with more important matters here?”

As he said this, Albus flicked his wand, causing the unconscious man to float over to Amelia’s side. Upon seeing him, she blanched.

“Albus, he’s he’s supposed to be dead. What in Merlin’s name has been happening here?”

“I will gladly share with you, but I feel that young Barty should be transported to the Ministry so he is safely locked away and under interrogation as quickly as possible. I can not of course, command you, but I highly suggest it as what we have to discuss here will go nicely along with what Barty will have to confess.”

Shaking herself, Amelia took a quick pinch of floo powder and sent the imposter through to awaiting aurors. She turned back to Albus.

“Now, please, do tell what is so important that it has caused a dead man to appear?”

Another chair was conjured and the headmaster gestured for Amelia to sit. “Introductions are in order. Madam Amelia Bones, I introduce you to Daela Ermaine, daughter of the Druid High Priestess. We also have Harry Potter and Ms. Hermione Granger. To summarise, Mr. Potter and Mr. Diggory were captured by the Tournament Cup which had been turned in to a portkey. They returned with Ms. Ermaine, but Mr. Diggory was struck by the killing curse. Ms. Ermaine was just about to show us her memory of this evening. Ah yes, the pensieve…” He stood from his chair.

“no thank you sir.”

Dumbledore paused at Daela’s calm refusal. His questioning eyes turned to her, so she elaborated.

“I have a spell that will allow me to transfer the experience to you all in a way that will express all five senses as opposed to the three that the pensieve can manage,” she said.

The minister jumped on this with fervour. “I will not have any spells cast at me young lady. You can either use the pensieve that is provided or take this load of tripe back home.”

For the first time, Daela felt her patience running thin. “Minister, I am not sure where you get your power from, but if it is from the people of this country, then I presume they would not wish for you to be treating an ambassador to the Druids in such a way. Unless this is how you treat with all governing bodies and cultures? I would not force you to allow me to cast magic on you as that would be impolite on multiple levels. However, behaving with such vitriol as you do now only reminds me of why my people were forced to abandon the world as a whole.”

“Young lady, you are not even of age. Not only do you not have voting rights in the first place, but you are hardly old enough to tell me how to run my office.! I will not…”

This time she interrupted him. “And if I were to inform you that how you treat with me is how others of my people will expect to be treated, what do you say to that Minister?”

“If someone even did send you, I would have to question their intelligence if they sent a bloody child to perform a diplomatic duty! Now remove yourself from my presence you insolent little girl!” Spittle flew from his lips and his bowler hat was being shaken at her, crushed in one of his fists.

Fury was burning inside her, and Daela could feel her aura projecting past her control. She could see the others, save the enraged minister, watching her with fascination. Likely, her lack of control was displaying itself as it usually did, sparks of lightning dancing around her and her eyes glowing with an azure radiance. That, would improve with time and training, not to mention maturity, but it still bothered her to lose even that level of control.

“It is a primary point of our society to require that the child of the current high priestess, or priest, be educated as an ambassador via direct learning experiences, beginning the year they come of age. I apologise that this does not satisfy your desire to speak with someone you would consider an adult by your societal standards, however, this is what the situation grants us.”

“Your behaviour only makes it abundantly clear that you are influenced by dark magic, as have been your predecessors.”

Daela fought for control, tamping down the rage and straining power. As weakened as she was, her instincts were to protect herself with magic, which would only exhaust her further. Through the anger, she sank in to her meditations and focused on a single thought. Share. If her words were not going to be enough, then perhaps the horror of the dark lord rising again would be effective.

With a flick of her wrist, five silver memory strands darted from her temple and entered the minds of the others in the room. She noted that Albus and Amelia had flinched in time as if to block an attack but had not moved quickly enough. Now they stood rigid, held in the last position they had taken. Inside, they would be reliving Daela’s memory from the moment she entered the graveyard until she reappeared on the Hogwarts grounds.

After giving herself a moment to calm down, Daela rose and moved to stand before the window overlooking the grounds, her steps silent upon the carpet. She clasped her hands behind her back and let herself relax and feel the strains of the night for the first time.

While Daela was strong, she was still only sixteen. Amongst her people, that meant adulthood, but it also meant that her ability to channel the world’s energies was not yet fully established. There was at least another six months before that would happen. Until then, she would tire more easily from magic use, and would be unable to recharge her energy levels by use of the environment. As such, she had nearly exhausted what power she had by holding off Tom’s assault, punching through the Hogwarts wards, and sharing her memory with five people, all within the span of an hour. Not to mention the despicable man who seemed to be in charge of the magical world, that was just draining. Reining in her temper had been hard enough and she wasn’t sure if she would be able to do it again. As soon as they came awake again she would have to seize control of the conversation to lessen his seemingly childish tendencies.

There was one problem however, one Daela and her mother had not foreseen. Harry Potter was a horcrux. From what she could tell, nothing had been done to render it inert nor attempt to remove it; which meant that Albus was either less skilled than they had thought, or that he, dare she think it, had chosen to leave it be. Daela shuddered, it had better not be the latter. With her mother’s help, they could easily remove it, but it would have to be done before the soul magnet was needed, or before its connection allowed Tom to affect Harry directly.

She was willing to bet that Albus had not told Harry about it, which would most likely leave it up to her.

Lovely.

How was she supposed to start that conversation? Hey Harry, I know you just met me, but I’ve got to tell you something. Tom put a soul magnet in your brain which means that if he is aware of it he can take over your body the next time he dies. Mind if I pull it out of your skull for you?

Yes, that was bound to be a wonderful conversation.

If they weren’t best friends after that, then something must be wrong with the universe.

Damn.

Behind her, Daela heard the others beginning to stir. After the memories were done being relived, the spell woke them up slowly so they did not hurt themselves. Before they could begin to speak, she did, still facing the window and talking calmly as she had centred herself again and was properly prepared for this.

“I am here, with you now, as a representative of my people because we see no other way to prevent a cataclysm. I am neither perfect, nor experienced with decades of negotiating. We can not be certain of the future ourselves, yet we can do what we must. Our magic is what your world once branded as dark, and likely still does. That is why only one of us came to address you this evening.”

Hands still clasped behind her, Daela turned about to face the others. Albus sat serenely, fingers intertwined on his desk. Amelia was directing a quill to take notes on a scroll but still listening attentively. Harry and the girl with curly brown hair, Granger she thought her name was, were staring at her with wide eyes. Needless to say, she kept her eyes from the minister for the present.

“I am no warrior. However, I am here to fight for the sanctity of this Earth. I have power, and am willing to teach those I may if it will help them succeed against the monster you have allowed to rampage across Albainn. However,” Here, Daela made her way back to her chair, “I can not, and will not, force you to do anything. I will however, do what I must if you will not. Are we at least able to agree that Tom has returned?”

Albus cleared his throat. “I most certainly agree with you and thank you for your words. Would you mind explaining why you chose to use that spell rather than a pensieve?”

“Of course. As I said before, it provides a person with the full sensory experience with having the added benefit of being nigh impossible to fabricate. Amongst those who understand such magic it is as good as the truth and nothing but.”

“Thank you Ms. Ermaine, that is very…”

“No it is not Albus.” Cornelius stood and stalked over to the fireplace. With a pinch of powder in his fist, he turned about. “I will not have this Dumbledore, neither from you, or these children. I have more important matters to deal with and I advise you to give it up now before my office has to step in. Good day.”

Fudge thrust his other hand in to a pocket and withdrew a small sack which he tossed in Harry’s general direction. “There, boy, your winnings. It has a shrinking charm on it so don’t drop it on anyone.” In another bout of emerald sparks, he was gone.

\----

Lord Voldemort strode through the halls of Malfoy Manor. After all, he owned it now didn’t he? As elegant as it was, he knew he would need a more, fitting place from which to rule his country. Perhaps he should build one. That could wait however. Now, he had a few matters to attend to.

“Lucius.”

“Yes m’lord,” came the desperate response.

“I require a team of ward breakers, preferably curse breakers, yet I will allow for some freedom in your choice. Also,” Here he paused and turned to the unmasked man. “I need spies to discover the home of the Druids. They have remained hidden, but if they wish to interfere with my plans, then I intend to show them the error of their ways. I am not to be trifled with. Seek them out for me so I may rip the magic from their blood.”

Lucius nodded fervently. “Of course m’lord, I will see to them personally.”

Continuing his stroll through the home, Voldemort added, “Oh, and Lucius? If you fail in this, you will find your home is, how should I put it, no longer needed. Your failure in keeping my forces well trained was nearly enough to undo you, yet I feel that perhaps a second chance would suit you. You shall be repairing that damage as well now won’t you?”

“Of course master, you have my…”

“Don’t grovel, it’s pathetic.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the confused expression that flitted across his servant’s face. Yes, he had been without sanity before hadn’t he? Moving forward without training his followers properly would be an utter mistake. Ruling magical England might be possible all on his own, but holding it would be another matter. With only a few dozen followers, there was no means by which to combat the ultimate invasion of the International Confederation of Wizards. For that, Tom would need a proper army. For that, he would need to begin recruiting, heavily, both within England and without. Limiting the scope to the island would be idiocy.

The continent had much to offer, and Voldemort had plenty of contacts he could use to begin swelling his forces.

\----

“Well then, now that that’s done with, how about some tea?” The headmaster flicked his wand, providing each of them a service of tea and biscuits.

Daela eyed the offering warily. Conjured items provided no benefit when consumed, so her people rarely bothered with them. Extending a tendril of power in to the tea she was surprised to discover that it was not conjured. Curious.

“Now, what do you think of the matter Amelia,” Albus prompted.

Seemingly fortifying herself with the tea, Amelia took a long swallow before responding.

“I am no more pleased with the events of tonight than the minister is. I however, can not deny their happening. I commend you Mr. Potter, and you Ms. Ermaine, for your stance against he-who-must-not-be-named. Though I must ask why you call him Tom?”

“It’s his real name.” Harry had spoken, quietly, but firmly. “Voldemort is an anagram for his name. Tom Marvolo Riddle. He’s a half blood, as if he would ever admit it.

“Interesting. Well it is good to have a name to put to it. Out of curiosity, do you know why no one utters his chosen name?”

“I thought everyone was just afraid.”

Amelia looked at Albus with slightly narrowed eyes. “Albus, you mean you haven’t told him why no one speaks the name? Harry, in the last war, He…Tom made his name taboo. That means that if someone said it, he could track them and send death eaters to attack them; even through heavy wards. So yes, people are terrified, and rightly so. Now that he has returned, it is very likely he will do it again. Now though we have another name for him which he most likely will not taboo as he would have to share it with his followers, and it’s not as if he is the only Tom running about.”

“Was it ever used to draw him out in to a trap?”

Based on how the two elders were looking at her, Daela felt it was safe to presume that had not been attempted.

“Perhaps even I allowed my fear to get the better of me.” Admitted Albus. “Had any of us considered it, that may have been a rather useful opportunity. The only flaw I could see in it is that it was never certain if Tom would appear at the site or not.

“Agreed.” Entered Amelia. “Now, I can promise that I will do all I can to contest, Tom’s, efforts, but I saw something rather concerning. His use of wandless magic, namely using fire, was at a level I have never witnessed let alone heard of. What about you Albus?”

Dumbledore shook his head. “I have not either, but I presume this is what you came to share with us Ms. Ermaine?”

\----

Harry, while exhausted and feeling as though he had been through a traumatic experience, was rather enjoying himself. To be more accurate, he was enjoying how other people were doing the talking for once. Everything important that had happened for years up to this point in time, had required him to be at least a major contributor to the conversation. This, Daela, seemed to be handling it rather well all on her own from what he could tell. Which was impressive since she looked to be about his and Hermione’s age.

When she had first appeared in the graveyard to save him, Harry had been slightly mad from the torture Voldemort had inflicted on him, and had first thought she was his mother’s spirit returned to fight for him. When he got closer he realised they looked nothing alike, so it had to be someone else. Someone else who was strong enough to contest and infuriate Voldemort. On top of that, she was well, beautiful. Daela held herself with poise and such calm control that it belied her youth.

And that aura of her’s? Well that was impressive. He had never sensed someone’s aura like that.

“That is correct.” Continued Daela. “There are in essence two branches of magic.” At this, Harry saw Hermione twitch and begin to raise her hand.

“However, before you correct me, I mean this in a different sense. There is magic performed through an external focus or foci such as a wand. There is also magic unbound by any vessel save the body. This you would refer to as wandless magic. All magical children experience this before they are bound to a wand. This is also the magic used by my people, for the most part. Each magical individual has the opportunity to bind themselves to one of those two in their lifetime, with only one opportunity to alter their choice.”

Beside him, Hermione was starting to take notes feverishly. Where had she gotten the quill and paper from? Harry smiled at her determination not to miss a single speck of knowledge.

“To avoid providing an overly long lesson I will stick to the most important points relevant to Tom.” Hermione looked horrorstruck at the thought of an abbreviated lesson. “When a child accepts a wand, they are instantly bound to it, cutting off the vast majority of their potential for unbound magic, wandless. Tom, like any of you, is able to learn a certain amount of wandless magic, primarily involving elemental control. If for example, I instructed you Harry, in the arts of my people, and you learned all you could, you would have the opportunity to forsake your wand if you so desired. Doing so would limit you to such elemental expressions, but grant you the entire power range you are capable of.

“What this means is each of you, having already bound yourselves to a wand, has only one opportunity to change your minds. Tom displays something concerning however. The amount of power he displays with fire is equivalent to the freedom in the element he should have had he forsaken his wand. And yet, he clearly has not done so. Before you ask, it should be impossible for both to exist in a single individual.”

When Daela paused, Hermione’s hand shot up. The Druid smiled indulgently at her and flicked her hand in a gentle signal for Hermione to ask her question.

“Well, I believe we all noticed that he used only elemental fire tonight. He did transfigure stone in to hounds, but that part was typical transfiguration with a wand. Is there any chance that the fire he used was channeled through his wand but released through his hand?”

Daela thought for a moment, her head cocked to the side as she considered. Finally she shook her head. “I do not believe so. While he is powerful, casting fire about like he did, channeled through his wand but expressed through his hand? It would mean that he is beyond even our most powerful magic wielders. As this is unprecedented, I can not give a definitive answer with proof, but I will say that if it were possible, we would know of it.”

That seemed to satisfy Hermione. “Could, could I meet with you after? I have loads of questions but now isn’t really the time I think…” She trailed off looking around the room.

“Too true.” Added Dumbledore. “Now, do you have any theories Ms. Ermaine?”

“We do. There is only one way that we could work out in order to manage what he has. Tom has created at least one soul magnet, or soul container as you may call them. Splitting off a portion of his soul for the rest of it to jump to upon his death, would technically create an unhindered soul, bound to wandless magic. If the soul magnet returned to him somehow then that would connect a particular element, likely of his choice, to his entire soul. The only conclusion that makes potential sense in this situation is that he did just that, and one of his magnets was either destroyed or returned to his soul by himself.”

The room was quiet. Harry had no idea what Daela was talking about and Hermione looked horrified. Amelia and Professor Dumbledore were slowly turning their heads to look at one another.

Amelia saw the headmaster’s serene look and her eyes narrowed.

“You knew,” was all she said.

Could he have? This sounded like some kind of horror story. Voldemort could keep himself from dying? Well, it wasn’t like Harry hadn’t already known that. But had Dumbledore known and simply not said anything? Could this be why Voldemort was always after him?

“I suspected yes,” the headmaster said. His tone was calm as always, but it betrayed a bit of defensiveness. “however I had no proof and feared that if I brought such concerns to the ministry I might be ignored for the same reason the minister is choosing to disregard the reality he lives in. I also have no proof Amelia. Even now we have only conjecture.”

Daela’s remarkably blue eyes rolled. “I must disagree with you sir. The mere fact that Tom is returned from the supposed death he was to inhabit is fact enough. Cheating death is singularly impossible otherwise.”

“Even so, this means he would be mortal now, so all that needs doing is overpowering him,” he parried.

“Not necessarily. What if he made more than one, which, considering his power and determination to embody psychosis and evil, he very well may have.”

“And yet, we have no way of determining such things. For now, we can only prepare for what conflict he brings to us.”

Hermione was irritably scrawling something on her notes, her eyes half closed in thought. He thought she looked rather adorable like that.

Wait, what?

Two girls in the same room, at the same time.

And he thought they were both pretty?

Oh damn!

It was finally happening. He actually gave a damn about girls now. This was not good. Not good at all. More distractions. Lovely. And even as he was beginning to wonder what the hell was wrong with him lately.

Focus!

It turned out that when you were trying not to focus on pretty girls, all you could do was focus on the pretty girls.

Bollocks.

Would it help to look at someone who was not pretty?

Yup, looking at the ancient headmaster helped. A lot.

But now he felt like an ass. Ah well, nothing for it then.

Hermione’s elbow nudged his arm.

“Hmmm?”

Harry looked about and saw that he was the centre of attention.

“Sorry, what was that?”

“I was just asking you,” began Amelia, “If you would not mind testifying under truth serum if my department comes under fire from the minister. It may be the only way to verify Voldemort’s return. There are some arguments that they could still use, but your statement would sway enough voters to make the difference.”

“Yeah, that’d be fine.” Then he remembered his experience with Snape earlier in the year. “Actually, I could do it now if you’d like.”

Amelia shook her head. “Veritaserum is highly restricted and requires a lot of paperwork to have brewing permissions allowed, never mind actual administration. But I thank you for your readiness.”

“There’s some in the castle though, at least I think there still is.”

The head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement perked up. “Oh? And how do you know this?”

Dumbledore began to say something but Amelia held up a hand.

“Snape threatened me with it earlier in the year when he decided I was stealing potion ingredients from him. He showed me it and everything. Doesn’t it only take a couple of drops or something? He said that was all he’d need to put in my pumpkin juice.”

Part of him felt a vengeful sense of glee when Amelia’s eyes narrowed and she stood up turning to the headmaster.

“You mean to tell me that your potions master has been brewing truth serum without the express permission of the ministry. Threatening students with it no less?”

“I am sure Severus would never have followed through Amelia. What he showed Harry was likely just a similarly appearing potion.”

“Bring him here, and tell him you have need of his supply. All of it.” When professor Dumbledore hesitated she added, “Or I will have aurors come here to take it from him.”

With a sigh of resignation, Dumbledore summoned his patronus and sent the silvery phoenix after Snape. The office was awkwardly silent while they waited, save for the relentless ticking and whirring of the silver instruments.

\----

Daela sensed as the man approached, his tainted mark tickling at the edge of her senses. Was there really another professor bearing the mark of their foe? Did no one really understand what that blasted mark was capable of?

The door opened and the potions master swept in, robes billowing. In his hand he held two vials filled with a clear substance. His eyes immediately fell upon Harry and a malevolent sneer stole over his features.

“Ah, I see why you needed so much of the…” He spotted Amelia.

He froze, then slowly looked down at what he was holding. His lips opened in a silent curse.

“Ah, thank you Severus! Look at that Amelia, not only does he do his job well, but his enthusiasm has allowed him to brew enough of the potion to supply the ministry for months. Why thank you Severus.”

Daela stared at the headmaster, her brain seemed to have frozen.

What in the name of the blood-soaked earth was wrong with these people? Worse yet, what had she just gotten herself in to? This was her first ambassadorial trip outside the Druid community, and her inexperience was showing. Granted, she had to admit to herself that the manner of dealing with equals was very different here. Her temper kept flaring because people here apparently felt it was appropriate to be rude to one another. Daela was used to working with people who at the very least displayed propriety and decorum, even when dealing with those they disliked. Amongst the Druid communities, dislike was expressed openly, like most other emotions, but it was done so in order to leave nothing unsaid so that missions like this would go without incident. Rudeness, well, that was just unfamiliar to her. It was no excuse however and she would have to gain control of her emotions quickly.

“Albus, I believe the students need their rest.” Amelia Bones was glowering at Snape. Daela wanted to see just how this woman dealt with law breaking but knew better than to try.

“I would have to agree. “Harry, Ms. Granger, Ms. Ermaine, I do believe it is time for bed. After all, I will shortly be required to return to the grounds to manage the matter of Mr. Diggory. Ms. Ermaine, you are more than welcome to spend the night in the castle as I am sure you are tired after engaging Voldemort. Please, once you three are done talking later, call for the house elf Dobby, and he will direct you to a room for the night. Harry is well familiar with him and I am sure that Dobby would be glad to help out his friends. For now however,” said the headmaster, gesturing toward the door.

Harry and his friend stood to leave.

“Thank you sir. I do have one question for you before I leave.” Albus nodded. “I would ask about possibly attending in the fall term at Hogwarts.”

“Ah yes, that would be an enlightening experience for us all I believe. We have things to discuss though, namely your classes, considering your style of magic. Come find me this summer and you and I shall sit to discuss matters.”

“Thank you, headmaster.” Daela turned to Amelia Bones who spared a moment to step toward her. “It is a pleasure to meet you Madam Bones. I look forward to working with the Ministry, going forward.”

“Likewise. I may need to contact you about the proceedings this evening. Will you be in a place to receive an owl,” the woman asked.

“I will.”

“Good then.” She bade farewell to the other two before Daela led them down the spiral stairs and away from the chilling sensation of the dark mark.

\----

The door to the headmaster’s office swung shut and Amelia turned to face Albus and his potions master.

“Someone do explain to me why a restricted substance has been being brewed in a school, without the express permission of the Ministry.” If there was one thing Amelia struggled to deal with, it was blatant disregard for the law. Albus was involved, so there was likely some form of legitimate reason. But flaunting this as if she might never find out was beneath him.

“I have had the concern for some time, Amelia, that Voldemort would find some manner by which to return to the world of the living. As such, I thought it prudent to ensure that Severus was prepared to brew at the peak of his skill, in case his unique position was ever needed again.” The Chief Warlock was right, and unfortunately skilled at minor diversions.

“But why tis, Albus? And why, Professor, did you see fit to threaten a student with dosing in their pumpkin juice?”

The younger man grimaced. “If you are referring to the child whom I presume is spreading lies about me as usual, then I would remind you that he has always felt the need to stretch the truth when it suits him.”

“That is not an answer, Professor. Did you threaten him with dosing, to determine whether he was stealing potion ingredients, or not?”

Snape opened his mouth to answer, but Albus chimed in, as if he didn’t know what he was interrupting.

“Speaking of, Severus, it would appear that the ingredients stolen from your office were being used to brew Polyjuice potion, to disguise Barty Crouch Junior as Professor Moody.”

“And the gillyweed?”

“That, I have no answer for you. However, you could consider asking young Harry himself.”

“And give him another opportunity to spout his lies?”

“Gentlemen!” Amelia snapped the word out, and both of them flinched, looking as cowed as if they were junior aurors caught slacking off in their lessons. “I am not here to inquire about stolen ingredients, seeing as no one has reported them stolen. I am, however, here to inquire as to why you, Severus Snape, threatened a student with dosing of truth serum that you brewed illegally. I suggest you not give me reason to bring you in for questioning.”

The potions master clenched and unclenched his free hand. “As the headmaster said, it is imperative that I be capable of performing my duties to the Dark Lord without even the slightest hitch in skill, in case he needs my services. We can not miss the opportunity that my station with him grants me. As you may know, truth serum when properly brewed, distills down to only a vial at most. These you are welcome to keep for yourself and I will accept whatever fine you must place. We had considered that it may be helpful to have a collection of difficult to brew potions, here at Hogwarts, in case the Ministry was ever compromised.”

“And the dosing?”

“I will admit to implying an action that I had no intention of following through on. Potter does tend to require a firm hand when he proves to be less than cooperative in his lessons.”

Amelia took the two vials from the potions master and turned to Albus. “I suggest you speak with your professors about what kinds of implied, or realistic, punishments they perform upon their students, Albus. If one of them went to the Prophet with such a claim, I can’t tell you the firestorm you would be dealing with.”

He dipped his head. “I will of course be doing so Amelia.”

“And you,” she said, turning to Snape again, “considering the nature of these potions, the fine for brewing even one vial is 100 galleons. I expect that the full fee of 200 galleons will be paid to my office prior to the 8th of July. Is that understood.”

“Yes, it is, Director.”

“I will remind you, that regardless of reasons, illegally brewed potions are still just that.”

“Yes, Director.”

They both looked suitably cowed, but she couldn’t be sure, and with Barty Crouch Junior back at the Ministry, she couldn’t stay around to find out.

“Professor, Chief Warlock.” Amelia stepped through the floo, worries about Voldemort, Druids, and the young Potter, swirling around her like the emerald flames. There would be no escaping any of this, she was certain.

Upon entering her office, Amelia came face to face with Kingsley Shacklebolt, the man looking stoic as ever while he waited by her door.

“Report,” she barked.

If he noticed that she sounded hacked off, he didn’t express it.

“As you ordered, we tested the individual’s identity as well as his system for any potions he might have consumed recently. It is in fact, Barty Crouch Jr. The mark on his left arm is all but gone, and replaced by burn tissue. There were strong traces of polyjuice potion in his system as well.”

“Good work. We can interrogate him first thing in the morning before formalising the arrest. First though, I need you to make sure he is well guarded and that no one talks. The Minister is aware that he is here, but in case he leaves this one to us long enough, I don’t want word getting out. Then, take these vials to be tested for viability. I want to know the quality of the truth serum, and I want to know if we can add it to our stores.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“I’ll be filling out about a half-dozen reports in case anything comes up. If the Minister tries to get involved, direct him to me.”

“Ma’am.”

Kingsley departed and Amelia dropped in to her chair, leaning forward to rest her hands on her fists.

“I have a wool-headed minister that won’t listen to evidence that is right before his eyes, an inexperienced ambassador from a forgotten Druid society, a returned dark lord, and a Chief Warlock and his potions master that seem to think they can bend the rules right in front of me. Bloody balls.”

If she didn’t have loads of paperwork to do still, she’d be half-way in to her bottle of brandy in the desk by now. How was she supposed to manage all this at once? If the minister didn’t get his head out of the sand, she’d be fighting against him as well.

Daela Ermaine seemed nice and all, but the girl really did need experience. At least she too seemed to be aware of that fact. It still didn’t change the fact that she’d downright antagonised the Minister. Once she grew up a bit, she’d be a formidable politician, but until then, it just left Amelia with another problem. If the girl did end up going to Hogwarts, perhaps she would become friends with Susan. Though Amelia had never pressured Susan to become a politician, or work in the government, she had instilled proper manners and similar behaviours in the girl. She added a note to her to-do list to talk to Susan about making friends with the Druid ambassador. Friendship could be mutually beneficial for both of them.

With a sigh, she summoned a stack of report templates to herself and set aside enough to cover the evening’s activities. Tom Riddle. The man was returned from the dead after 13 years. Amelia suppressed a shiver. Her department wasn’t ready in the slightest. Neither was she if she was being honest with herself. Training, was added to the list.

The list continued to grow that evening as the fading light of the hearth flickered across her desk. The summer solstice was over, what now would this new year bring?

Whatever it did end up bringing, something told her that the three kids sitting in the headmaster’s office would be at the centre of it. Change, it seemed, was coming for the wizarding world.


	2. Preparations

After being ejected from the headmaster’s office by an irate Amelia, Harry followed Hermione and Daela down the spiral stairs while still imagining the various fates that he hoped awaited Snape. Daela had spoken to Dumbledore about admission in to the next school year and the man had agreed and offered her a room for the night. If only Harry could’ve seen what happened to the greasy git.

Once in the hallway, Harry turned to Hermione, “Any thoughts where we can go to talk with all these people on the grounds?”

“Well, I would think that the library is open still, Madam Pince doesn’t really go to any events,” she said.

“You’d best go first, I don’t think she likes me.”

Hermione sighed, then led the way with a roll of her chocolate eyes. Harry spotted a small frown on Daela’s face but it was quickly hidden as she stepped forward. While he walked, Harry took the opportunity to consider the past couple of hours. They had, for his life, been rather normal, yet he knew it was awful to have to think that in the first place.

Daela had done some incredible things with her magic, but so had Voldemort. How was he supposed to fight against wandless magic like that? Perhaps now that Daela was here he wouldn’t have to be on the front lines and Voldemort would leave him alone. Huh, as if.

He also wasn’t sure what Daela had done to him when they got back. Her power had charged through him for an instant and his energy had returned as if he had drunk a Pepper-Up potion. Somewhere inside he still felt the aches and he could feel his extremities beginning to tremble a little, but there was no pain. Likely that damn Cruciatus. Really, who hit a 14 year old with that while they were tied to a tombstone? Sadistic tosser.

And after that….

“Um, Daela? Can I ask a question?”

Her eyes turned on him as they walked. “Of course, if it does not require privacy.”

“I don’t think it does. Why did the dementors run away from you out there?”

Ahead of him, Hermione’s posture perked up slightly.

With a small smile she replied, “Dementors as you call them, are, well… Are you familiar with the concept of a black hole?” At his nod she continued. “If we consider a soul as relative to a star, then it is easier to refer to these creatures as the equivalent of a black hole. However they seek out matter to ingest rather than drawing it to them, yet that is further on. Anyway, they are in fact, the result of an experiment. We are not sure if it was a success, dementors being the desired product, or if they were the result of a failed attempt. However, we do know that they drained the souls of their makers which is why we only know so much.”

They rounded the corner to the library’s entrance and Hermione began a search for an empty study nook.

“Either way, similar to a black hole, when a dementor ingests a soul, it disappears, and we have no idea where to it goes. They are drawn to life you see, and will pursue it endlessly.”

As it turned out, the entire library was deserted except for its watchful caretaker, so the three took the first nook they came to. It had a lovely view over the lake and they could see the tree Harry, Ron and Hermione always sat beneath.

“To properly answer your question though, the Patronus Charm drives them away because it creates their inverse, a force that repels as strongly as they attract. My people have perfected it so that it no longer requires a wand, and can be formed as anything you like, either an aura or a beam for example. Those two ran from me because I was projecting a mild form of the aura, and, well, they rather dislike it.”

Harry was in awe. “Is that something you can teach me?”

“One of the matters I wish to discuss is training as I am more than happy to teach you and any others who may desire it. The Patronus alteration is within the branch of spirit magic. I feel that it would come easily to you.”

“Actually,” began Hermione, looking over her notes from the meeting in Dumbledore’s office, “could you go in to more detail about that? What branches of wandless magic are there?”

Daela nodded. “Of course. The technical term is element. The descriptions as you may best have reference for them are; air, earth, fire, water, lightning, spirit, and mind. The magics of each element are separate and must be learned separately, yet can be melded once mastery is obtained to create nearly limitless effects and possibilities. For example, spirit is likely what you would call ritual magic. The Patronus Charm as you may learn is a mix between mind and spirit magics. Does that answer your question for now?”

“It does. Can we talk about..”

Daela cut her off, seeing Hermione’s eyes return to her notes. “I will gladly give you all the information I have, though I suggest we discuss the more delicate matters in a more private setting than this.”

Harry found himself looking around the small corner in the library as if he was going to see anything that might be listening in on them. He couldn’t disagree with her, but knew there wouldn’t be much more opportunity other than the next school year. Once he was at the Dursley’s he wasn’t going to be going anywhere.

“Ok,” he said, “What can we talk about then?”

“To start, would either of you be interested in me training you to learn what free magic you may?”

He and Hermione nodded eagerly.

“Good, now, I will be renting a room for the summer, so that could be our meeting location.”

Harry stopped her. “Sorry, I don’t think I’ll be able to go far from the Dursleys’. I’m not really supposed to leave during the summer unless I’m going to the Burrow.”

Daela’s head tilted sideways in curiosity, her eyes locking on his.

Merlin, those eyes.

Dumbledore’s twinkle didn’t stand a chance against that look.

His cheeks were growing warmer. Oh dear.

And that damn trembling wasn’t helping.

Daela’s eyes flicked away and she steepled her fingers before her, a small smile on her lips.

“I will, see if I can do anything about that. Your training will be important.” After a pause she added, “And I was wrong to think now would be a fair time to discuss matters. You need rest and I need to heal you before that.”

Was he really that bad? He asked her this and nodding, Daela asked him to place his hands on the table. Only when he did this did he realise how bad it was.

\----

At his touch, the archway of stone opened to its master and the dark lord strode in to the cave he had prepared half a century before. Someone had been here, but who, and had they been successful? He might have been lucid enough to place charms at the entrance to alert him upon his next visit, if anyone had entered the cavern, but he had done nothing about instantaneous alarms if the defences were breached. The protections he had prepared were intricate and would be nearly impossible for a wizard, even one of Dumbledore’s caliber, to overcome.

Cupping his hands, Voldemort let them hang at his sides, palms down, then breathed. Fire sprung from his open hands, lifting him off the ground and supporting him in the air. He already knew how to fly, but this would also serve the purpose of keeping the dead from bothering him. He angled his hands and the fire propelled its master forward over the dark lake.

It made sense to collect his magnets now and hide them with a secret. What he had been thinking before, well it was madness. The portion of soul needed to create the diary and allow for further constructions had obviously removed more of his sanity than he had initially prepared for. This, this was a better plan, and much more likely to ensure no one could ever locate his pieces.

Lowering himself on to the island bathed in emerald light, Voldemort released the flames and stepped to the basin. His protections were sufficient, but not infallible.

He waved his wand and the draught of despair evaporated, leaving the locket curled in the bottom of the depression.

And yet, it was wrong.

A bolt of destructive magic leapt from his wand and exploded upon contact with the locket. If it were his, it would not break, and yet…

Not only did the locket get vaporised, but the entire basin shattered. That would only happen if his protection had been compromised.

Bugger.

Bloody, bloody bugger!

He barely heard the explosion as he let his displeasure be felt throughout the cavern. Rage. Rage at whomever had dared to cross him. Rage at his own failure to plan for such eventualities. Rage at the world, for contesting him, for fighting his aims of immortality, for existing in his way. That rage burned, fuelling the magical outpouring that allowed him to truly release the power that had been steadily building within him.

And if he opened the hidden lake to the skies, well, it wasn’t his fault. The cave no longer held a purpose. This place was no longer of any consequence. Even through the brilliant blast of fire, Voldemort saw the dome of magic shatter and spray light upward in to the night. The wards he had crafted so delicately those many years ago, now faded like his hopes for a successful cache of horcruxes.

And if maybe the water was all turned to steam as a result, well, that was just physics.

And if all his minions in the lake-bed were turned to ash, well it wasn’t his fault they were vulnerable to fire. They were frail, frail with age, frail with weak magic, and frail with vulnerabilities. He could and would make something much better. Voldemort was not one to sit idly by and utilise faulty spell-craft when he could manage better himself.

\----

One last effort this night. One last effort before the solstice was over. This had better not make her pass out.

Daela stepped around the table and sat down beside Harry facing him. She took his hands in her’s and looked in to his emerald eyes.

“This won’t hurt you, just relax and look in to my eyes.” She spoke softly and saw a tinge of red darken his cheeks.

Interesting. Then again, he was a teenage boy.

The tremors were beginning to affect more than just Harry’s hands so Daela interlocked her fingers with his and extended her energy in to him.

Healing was unique to the Druids. They themselves could cleanse twice daily of most ailments; once at the dawn and once at moonrise. The sun, and moon affected the body and mind respectively, allowing for one cleansing of each type. There were limits of course, but it allowed her people to heal in a very different way than any other group.

Within Harry, she sense not only the darkness that was the horcrux, but the after-effects of the cruciatus curse. The malnutrition from his childhood made her furious but he could heal that on his own once she taught him how.

Interesting though, was something she had not expected. His difficulty with vision was not a genetic matter, it was in fact a result of that blasted soul magnet in his forehead, blocking his chakra. No wonder he wasn’t too keen on his education, or too imaginative. That too could be fixed at a later point. While she very much disliked leaving so many imperfections, there was little that could be done for them at this time. So, taking hold of the bodily damage from the curse, Daela pulled them out of Harry and in to herself.

Immediately his shaking stopped and he sighed in relief. Her earlier spell had blocked the actual pain, but not the knowledge of it, so his relief was understood. Before the pain could hit her, Daela drew that spell out of Harry as well, transferring its affect to herself. It was powerful magic, and each person could only have it active on one person at a time, otherwise armies of warriors who felt no pain would be roaming the earth.

“Better,” Daela asked.

“Wow, how did you,” he began.

“You mean it worked? I didn’t even see any magic visibly. That’s incredible. Could you tell us how it works? Was it a spell we can learn or is it a secret?” Hermione’s interjection would likely have continued so Daela released Harry’s hands and raised one of her own to forestall the tide of curiosity.

I can certainly explain, but, not now. Now I am tired, I’ve done a lot today, and there is much to do this summer.” Disappointment flickered on Hermione’s face.

“Thank you.” Came Harry’s soft gratitude, but he was looking at her strangely. “You took the pain for yourself didn’t you?”

She nodded. “I will be alright though, I heal more easily than you do at the moment. Now, I hope you rest well and I will be contacting you over the summer. It was a pleasure to meet you both.”

Daela stood, and after dipping her head in farewell to each of them, she hurriedly strode from the library. Still unfamiliar with the castle, she retraced her steps to the headmaster’s guardian, then backtracked to the entrance hall. Her memory was strong enough to hold such routes without flaw, but as tired as she was, Daela could not use her power to seek a more direct route out of the structure. As such, by the time she stumbled down the front steps her eyes were closing against her will and making it to the lake was going to be a chore.

Damn.

And that spell protecting her from the pain was going to be burnt away by the moonlight once the sphere reached the peak of its journey.

Damn.

The grounds were silent. The stars were silent. Her power was silent.

The music that incessantly danced through her mind and soul, the power she could play as easily as an instrument, was sleeping. She had used too much of it this day, so much so that even the bolstering energies of the solstice had helped little.

The lake, the water, the tide, would carry her through the night if only she could make it before her body gave up.

\----

Was it the old man?

Was it the Aurors?

Was it a defected Death Eater?

No.

No, he couldn’t think like that. Obviously it was someone, but he wouldn’t know for some time, and speculating was not going to help anyone. Especially since the horcrux being gone did not mean that it was close to being destroyed. Now, now, he had to act and recover as many as he could.

The cup of badgers, the horcrux that would grant him mastery over water, was locked in a vault. It could not be recovered immediately without starting a war; which he was going to do anyway, but, not yet.

Ravenclaw’s diadem, holding his access to the element of lightning, was hidden within Hogwarts. What in the hell had he been thinking?

Nagini, a link to mastery over spirit magic, was already safe. She was a mistake, a pleasant one to be sure, but a mistake all the same. While his goal had initially been to make her a horcrux upon his revival, once the horcrux of fire was destroyed, Voldemort realised how foolish that would be. What he had not planned for, however, was his prolonged possession of her to cause a portion of his soul and magic to latch on to her life force. An unintentional horcrux, but one he could keep safe with him.

These foolish decisions and wretched mistakes absolutely had to stop. It would be the death of him otherwise.

The death ring, bearer of earth, was seemingly the only one he could retrieve right now.

During his demise he had unintentionally created a soul magnet within the boy; one that would ultimately prove to be very helpful. His strength in the mind arts would only be augmented with the horcrux of the mind. How fitting that the boy would be his link to pure sanity.

But really, it was time to stop making stupid decisions. His sanity had returned and it was time to show the world the true potential of this dark lord.

Voldemort shook himself and glanced around the now open and dry cavern. Only starlight accompanied him.

With a twist, the world warped about him and the Gont shack materialised.

The ring would soon be safe.

Unlike those who interfered and dared to meddle with his horcruxes.

\----

“She seems in a hurry, eh?”

Hermione shook her head as they made their way out of the library before Madam Pince could usher them away.

“Of course she’s in a hurry Harry, didn’t you see how tired she was. I’ll be surprised if she makes it to bed.”

“Maybe we should’ve taken her to the hospital wing?”

“I don’t know, if she could heal you that way maybe she has other ways to recover. I hope she’s okay.” Hermione trailed off.

Side by side, accompanied only by the soft sounds of their footsteps, the two friends passed through the empty halls on their way to the common room. It was strange how deserted they were, perhaps everyone was partying in their common rooms. Or, mourning.

“Hermione, I, do you know what will happen to Cedric? Dumbledore never said anything about it.”

Again she shook her head. “Sorry, I wasn’t really thinking straight when we left the grounds.”

“I, well. I want to apologise to his dad.”

Abruptly stopping, Hermione turned and snatched one of Harry’s hands, pulling him to face her. Her eyes were narrowed but he saw a slight glint of potential tears.

“Don’t you dare blame yourself for that Harry. Yes it was awful, but you couldn’t have done anything about it. Right?”

“Well, maybe if I’d have been quicker.”

She squeezed his hand then let it drop. Seemingly uncertain, she extended her arms for a hug but did not move forward. Normally she’d just squeeze him to death. Oh well, nothing for it then.

And suddenly finding it hard to breathe, Harry moved in to the embrace and tried not to cry.

\----

She clung to him. He clung to her. And even though they were both crying, he for Cedric and fear, she for him and the awful things he always seemed to have to deal with, something felt right with the world.

This was what friends did for one another. They caught you when you needed to fall, they held you when all else was not enough. They wept for you when you couldn’t find it in yourself to do so.

And when you were crying, they glared over your shoulder at patrolling prefects until they turned and went the other direction.

Damn right they did.

The part of her that exalted at Harry’s closeness and kind of wanted to see if he was a good kisser was cowering in a corner of her mind as the rest of her bashed it over the head because friends were more important.

Yeah, Hermione, super friend, the terror of prefects and alter-egos.

Why wasn’t she better at this?

But it seemed that her gentle rocking and quiet humming was reaching him somewhere. Her lips close to his ear she whispered quietly to him.

“You did what you could Harry, you survived. You shouldn’t have had to be in that situation in the first place, so how could you have trained for it? That’s right, you couldn’t. Now, if you keep beating up my friend and telling him he should’ve done better, I’m going to tell Dobby you haven’t been taking care of yourself.”

Harry shuddered, but she felt his face twist in to a small smile against her shoulder.

“Harry, I want you to know, I’m, I’m always here, okay?” It took a moment, but he nodded. “I’m sure we can find out about Cedric and if it helps you can talk to his parents, but please, before you do, make sure you aren’t going to blame yourself.”

Light footsteps were coming up the hall behind her and Hermione just hoped they would keep right on going and leave them alone. Too bad hiding in broom cupboards was considered inappropriate. They were close. They were passing….

And an airy voice spoke…

“I always thought that witches who like one another had to be a bit more secretive about it, but I suppose society is getting better about that too.”

And the speaker just kept right on walking, white blond hair bouncing as she skipped away.

What?

Harry jumped away from her and spun to face the girl.

“What? Oy! Who are you anyway?”

Not turning to answer, the girl waved over her shoulder and said, “Oh, I’m just a friend you haven’t met yet. It’ll be a pleasure to meet you on the train in a few months.”

And she was gone. Leaving behind only confusion.

Harry scratched the top of his head. “Barmy.”

Since there was clearly nothing Hermione could do with that interaction in her mind without going mad herself, she decided to pretend it hadn’t happened. She laid her hand on Harry’s arm.

“Harry?” He turned those eyes to her. “You were brave tonight. You always are, but I hope you know that. You didn’t run, and while I should slap you for trying to fight him, you didn’t run when Daela stepped between you. Just, just know that okay?”

Tilting his head he nodded. “Thanks Hermione. Really. For, all of it, yeah?”

And somehow she knew that was the first time he had been held, while he cried. And again those tears threatened to fall.

Something was different between them now. Hermione was not sure if she had simply done something right, or if Harry was finally ready to accept her as a closer friend and maybe more. Whatever it was, she wasn’t going to let him go. If she had to train with Daela until she could stand toe to toe with the druid just to prove herself so she might remain at his side even when he wanted her to be safe, then she was prepared to do it.

\----

About him, Nagini slithered, sensing another horcrux. She would not know of what she felt, but there was enough magic within each vessel for them to react when near one another. She was tense and curious. So indestructible, and yet so, vulnerable. Perhaps there was wisdom in consolidation. And perhaps he only needed one anyway.

\----

There was much to be said for the agonies of regret and their determination to batter at one’s present. The past had never been very kind to Albus and he doubted it would ever see fit to do so.

The torrent of unsatisfied pain held Albus in its grasp as he leaned against the sill of his office window. Were it not for the presence of Fawks at his side, his warm feathers beneath Albus’ fingers, the headmaster figured he might be on the floor. He didn’t deserve this level of support, this comfort, not for what he had done, what he had been forced to become. The power that flowed through his veins even now, so many decades after the world had bent to his will was staggering. It insulted him. The world enjoyed reminding him of his youth, of his mistakes.

The Druid child, so defiant and reckless in her drive to browbeat Albus and the Minister in to giving her what she wanted, was far too close to the memory of how he himself had been. That, of course, had been before Albus truly began to resent himself for all that he had become. She was too painful, a hope he had seen and then reluctantly released once conversation started. He watched her now, as she stumbled across the lawn to collapse in a cross-legged position at the water’s edge. He had offered her a bed, and yet she forsook it. Was it intended to be a slight upon his kindness, or was this some ritual her people participated in? He knew so little. Everything he did know, after years of silent study, was only enough to give him a glimpse in to their capabilities. Were they to be feared, or praised?

“She pressed us, Fawks. There are very few who feel comfortable doing so, in this office no less.” His phoenix twitched his beak. “You feel her behaviour is inconclusive? There was little regard for propriety in her dealing with Cornelius.”

Another twitch.

“She does not project an aura of dark magic, though the blue sparks of electricity were a bit concerning. To think they would release her to represent them at so young an age.”

The girl was young after all, and likely needed time to grow and realise the mistakes she was making. Albus would not intentionally block her from that growth, but she knew far too much about certain delicate matters. How was he supposed to manage something like that?

With a tap of his hand upon the sill, the wall morphed slowly in to a tall, glass door that led onto a balcony. He stepped out in to the night air and breathed in the scents of summer. Could such a beautiful day truly hold such darkness as this? Voldemort was truly back amongst them, and everyone now saw fit to interfere with all the careful planning Albus had managed over the past decade. Such poor timing.

Gellert had been a similar problem in this regard, giving Albus little opportunity to truly come to grips with what he had to do. Daela was either a blessing disguised as a curse, or an upstart who would attempt to uproot him. Albus had to maintain control over the situation, which meant keeping Daela from poisoning everyone against him. Amelia had surprised him, turning to anger so quickly at Severus and he. She was normally so focused that this just came across as rash. Alternating loyalties did however, appear just like this. He had seen it before.

Sliding the Elder Wand from his pocket, Albus stepped up to the edge of the balcony. A flick of the wand later, and he was rising, unaided, from the floor. His robes flapped behind him as he picked up speed, sliding forward through the air and out over open space. Seconds later, his body faded from view and the sound of his wind-blown robes was muffled. One of the few things that allowed Albus to feel in control any longer was this soaring over his castle, observing his domain. He had always felt a kinship with the character of Gandalf from the muggle writer Tolkien’s works. Even now, he was beginning to feel rejected by his people for bearing the world’s secrets. They didn’t want him to be what he must. But Albus was powerful, and he hadn’t lived through so much agony to be cast aside when everyone decided that he shouldn’t be taking care of them any longer.

He halted when Daela was in clear view, her hands submerged in the waters of the lake as she sat, rigid. That was strange, he doubted anyone could get proper rest in such a position. She wasn’t emanating magic in any way, so this was truly either a meditation or other form of rest. Anything he cast to detect her motives might alert her though, so he merely watched, considering the potential influence of the wildcard below him. Dare he let her meddle? It was one thing for her to bring him political struggles, but another entirely to undo all his hard work making sure that Harry was ready to do what he must when the time came. Harry had to be willing, ready, determined, to take the killing curse for everyone he loved. This interference now could destroy all of that.

Acting now might be just as rash as the girl was behaving. No, he would have to wait longer to determine how the rest of the Druids would react to his pushing back against their agenda. The girl would have to be tolerated for now. He sighed, directing his motion forward in a wide loop around the castle grounds. The girl posed a threat to the success of his war against Tom, he would have to watch her closely, in case action was needed.

\----

Hermione’s arm in his, Harry walked back to the Gryffindor tower feeling strangely lighter than ever. Yes the evening had been awful, but, no one had ever held him like that before. Hermione had always been a hugger, but that was different. It had made him feel, loved, safe, cared for, as if he wasn’t alone. And when they had started walking Hermione had slipped her arm in to his without saying anything; as if he was going to.

She had spoken to him, but the words whispered so close to his ear had meant something more than words spoken aloud for others to hear. Aside from the shivers he had felt and the tingle of desire, they had rung true, and heartfelt. That he realised, was the difference between his friendship with the woman on his arm, and Ron. He did not like to compare them, but there was a powerful difference now.

Hermione’s voice speaking the password broke Harry out of his thoughts and he tensed. Hermione squeezed his arm to her side.

“Are you okay,” she asked, her eyes reading his face.

At first Harry was going to respond with his typical, “I’m fine,” but knew he didn’t have to anymore.

“I’m, better. Just, don’t go okay?”

Another squeeze and a smile. “Don’t worry, I won’t let the twins get you.”

The portrait hole opened.

Silence.

Odd.

Hesitantly they passed in to the common room and froze when they came face to face with their head of house.

“Good evening you two. If you are wondering why there is no party currently keeping everyone awake it is because I sent them all to bed.” Harry smiled and allowed himself to relax. “Yes, I thought you might appreciate that Mr. Potter. As you know, everyone tends to celebrate even when it is not appropriate. In light of Mr. Diggory’s passing,” Professor McGonagall gulped and paused briefly. “In light of that, I thought it more appropriate that you be allowed to make your way to bed undisturbed. I thank you Ms. Granger for keeping him company until now, this is a time to keep our friends about us. I bid you good night.”

And with that, she left before Harry could utter so much as a thank you.

“Wow.”

Hermione nodded in agreement. “Did you want to go to bed or would talking a bit help?”

Looking at her it was hard to say no, but.

“Thank you Hermione, tonight I think I’ll sleep, but before we leave for the summer okay? It means a lot that you’re here. I have to sleep now though, I’m exhausted.”

“Of course. Okay, well, sweet dreams.”

She embraced him again and held on for several too short seconds before releasing him. Reluctantly Harry walked to the stairs and climbed to his room. He didn’t really notice everyone talking to him, but went straight to his bed and collapsed on to it.

His dreams that night were filled with strange and beautiful women wielding incredible powers and Tom blasting his way through cities with fire that flew from his hands.

Only once that night did he wake from his scar with a split second vision of fire ripping through rock, an overpowering rage making him clench his fists.

It faded and still breathing hard, Harry closed his eyes again, thankful that he could even sleep after one of those.

\----

Peace evaporated.

The cleansing fire of the sun blazed through Daela’s veins, tearing her away from her forced calm. The cool protectiveness of the moon was ripped away and her body which had steadily been coping with more and more pain from harry’s healing, relaxed as that too left her.

Daela withdrew her hands from the rippling waters of the black lake and blinked her eyes open.

Then shut them.

Idiot, you shouldn’t have been facing east and looked in to the sun first thing in the morning. Damn that hurt.

Rising to her feet Daela turned and made her way down the lawn to the gates of Hogwarts. Yes she could transport herself through the wards, but it would take nearly half of the energy she could channel on a typical day. Not worth it. And right now the last thing she needed was a pounding head.

Stone cracked, flinging dust from the immobile bodies of the winged boars that guarded the gates to Hogwarts.

They bowed to her.

She was pretty sure they weren’t supposed to do that.

The headmaster was going to hate her.

Not as much as the goblins did.

She sighed and took the last few steps through the gates and on to the path beyond. Exiting the wards felt like she was leaving behind all the wisdom in the world, all the protection, all the energy. She doubted if anyone knew the true power of those wards anymore. Ah well, only so much could be taught.

Taking hold of air, spirit and mind, Daela yanked and pulled herself through the fabric of the world to the city of London.

London hurt apparently. Yes it was loud, but someone had also neglected to inform her that Diagon Alley was protected by wards that inhibited transportation. And now Daela had a headache.

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to master the pain. Around her, people chattered loudly, children scampering and squealing, and a few observant individuals muttered about her sudden appearance where she shouldn’t have been able to. Welcome to society young one.

Daela sighed and opened her eyes. Before her gleamed the edifice of marble and protective magics; the intensity of which was making her skin tingle. Or was that just her trepidation. This was to be her second diplomatic meeting in as many days. Judging by how terribly the first had gone, she was hardly confident of the outcome of meeting with the goblins who had legitimate reasons to dislike her.

Resigned to the pounding in her temples, Daela mounted the steps, rising ever towards the grim guardians that awaited her. Yet, they did not even react when she drew level with them. Nor did they twitch when she strode through the two sets of doors.

Still no reaction as she entered the hall filled with impatiently waiting patrons.

Still no reaction as she continued down the centre of the hall.

Ping.

Instantly, at the sound of the small bell, a runic circle burst to life about her, dead centre between the entrance and the doors ahead that led to who knew where. From those sparking runes arose a humming wall of magic that encircled her within a tube of amber energy. Every goblin in the room leapt to their feet, drawing whatever weapons they had on their person and a booming voice deafened all in the hall.

“Gringots is closed. Make your way to the exit.”

It brooked no argument. This of course made everyone stare at her as they left the building. Interesting play on the goblins’ part.

Now, not only surrounded by a magic she had no interest in testing, but encircled by a hoard of angry goblins pointing weapons at her, Daela wondered if perhaps this was not a proper diplomatic meeting for a sixteen year old.

\----

Harry awoke to being clobbered with a pillow as Ron bellowed something about breakfast and demanding information. Knowing Ron’s appetite for food, details, and more food, Harry forced himself to move out of the way of his friend’s weapon of choice and roll out of bed.

“Gerofme.” Harry growled and batted away the pillow, accidentally sending it across the room in to Neville’s face.

Oops.

Grumbling, Harry rolled out of bed and hurried to the washroom to wake himself up with a splash or two of cold water and a tremendously contrasting shower of steamy water because opposites.

At some point during that shower Harry became aware.

He became aware of what exactly had happened yesterday, and of something very important.

Something different and almost unreal for its insanity.

Someone, Daela, had saved him.

No, she hadn’t just saved him, she had taken fire for him, protected him, and contested Voldemort so he didn’t have to.

For once in his life, he hadn’t had to fend for himself.

This realisation filled him with a mix of relief, gratitude and frustrated confusion.

He hadn’t really thanked her; for the healing yes, but not everything else she had done.

She had stood up for him and basically slapped Voldemort in the face.

And why the hell hadn’t someone done that for him before?

In his first year, he had had to fight off Quirrelmort on his own, leaving him with a dead professor, which he was not going to think about right now.

Second year he had killed a bloody basilisk and destroyed a cursed diary made by a seriously over dramatic teenager with a twisted sense of nostalgia.

Last year he had been basically forced to conjure a corporeal patronus, the likes of which he probably shouldn’t have been able to produce for several years yet.

And now someone had actually pulled him out of the front lines. Intentionally.

And she was cute.

And so was Hermione.

\----

“Um Harry?”

“Yeah Ron?”

“Were you banging your head against the wall in there?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Um, why?”

“Hormones.”

“Ok.”

…

“Um, Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“Um, I get that everyone’s different and all… But er, could you be a little quieter about it next time you have to uh… You know…”

Ron trailed off blushing.

Harry stopped.

He was pretty sure every blood cell in his body was now in his face, and they were all on fire.

“Uh, Ron, that’s not, er…”

Frantically Ron waved off his reply and was all of a sudden ready to go.

“Yeah, uh, I don’t need to know. See you downstairs eh?”

And he disappeared.

And Harry felt vastly misunderstood.

And embarrassed for no reason.

Apparently, bashing your head against the shower wall in order to keep yourself from doing unmentionable things while thinking about two pretty girls, still resulted in embarrassment and shame.

Bugger.

Oh Merlin.

Maybe it was better to just not think ever.

\----

Both Ron and now Harry had come down to the common room looking embarrassed and refusing to look at one another.

Boys.

Putting off questions from those around them, the three left through the portrait hole and started down to breakfast. Hermione walked closer to Harry’s side than usual. She did not take his arm as she had last night, but stayed close enough that they occasionally brushed arms. The touch barrier had been broken last night and she had no interest in letting him clam up again. She could at least manage it until they left for the summer right?

They didn’t talk. There wasn’t much to say. They had to tell Ron about last night’s events, but they would do that after breakfast, or during if they could get some space for once at the table. No words were spoken save the occasional password to a shortcut. It was comforting. They had been friends long enough that they didn’t need to speak constantly to affirm their closeness. And as odd as their trio was, Hermione was glad for it.

Upon reaching the great hall however, they found a very somber environment. And then it hit her.

A student had died.

Cedric had died. Last night.

They found seats at the table and Hermione was happy to find herself squeezed between Harry and the person to her right. The hall was quiet and full, the last few stragglers hurrying to find seats as the headmaster stood before them, robes of ebony making him look more ancient than any shade of purple ever had.

“Before we eat,” began Dumbledore, “there are some matters that need to be discussed. First, let us congratulate our champion Harry Potter on his completion of the tournament.”

Quiet applause.

Dumbledore cleared his throat and stroked a hand down his beard. “We are, a school. Children come here to learn and leave as adults. The safety of this castle, is great, but it is not impenetrable. Last night, during the final task, Cedric Diggory, was murdered.” Murmurs began but he kept on talking. “The ministry would rather I not give you details as to whom struck our brave Mr. Diggory down. However, I believe that as headmaster I am granted some leeway with imparting important news. Mr. Diggory was killed last night by none other than Voldemort.” More murmurs and gasps. Speaking louder to be heard over them he continued. “He was killed by Voldemort in a plot to get his power back, to return to the world at large and continue his reign of terror. Cedric was brave, and he fell with his wand in his hand, a true champion. But you should know that he did not suffer. The fear of others’ pain is often greater than the fear of death itself. No, his loss is, immense, but at least we know that Cedric did not suffer in his passing.”

Dumbledore paused and wiped away a tear. Hermione had been dabbing at her eyes nearly the entire time.

Poor Cedric.

Harry was standing. She twisted to look up at him. His eyes were dry and somber, but they were looking right back at her. He didn’t have to say it, she knew.

She got to her feet and took his proffered arm. People were starting to notice them. The headmaster had and was smiling sadly at them. He led her forward, squeezing her arm tightly to his side. She wasn’t going to say how momentous this was for him. She wasn’t going to say how impossible it was. He was going to speak in front of everyone, and he had, for once, reached out to take help from someone he trusted. Support.

Harry was looking for support.

She didn’t know whether to cry or cheer.

Thankfully the environment and circumstances was making the decision for her, hence the reason why her sleeve was damp with tears as she tried to clean them away.

Whispers.

All around them. Everyone was watching. She wasn’t used to this. So she squeezed his arm right back. And holding tightly to one another, they reached the headmaster’s podium. He stepped aside and gestured for Harry to take his place. The next moment they were standing at the podium, their arms still linked as Harry grasped the wood tightly in his hands. But she could still feel him trembling.

As much as his body was wracked with tremors,, his voice did not falter. It started quietly and built to a firm call that echoed in the massive chamber.

“The tournament has taken lives in the past, and that is why some of us had no interest in being a part of it. I can say that for myself I was not at all interested. But some git decided to sneak me in and make me participate anyway.” Here he looked around the at everyone watching him, some with appropriate levels of chagrin for their earlier cruelty to him. “Cedric joined, knowing that he might not make it home after. But something was different this year and it wasn’t fair to Cedric.” Harry took a breath and turned his head to meet Hermione’s eyes for a few precious seconds. She didn’t want him to look away.

“Cedric was ahead of me in the maze. We’d seen each other a couple of times, but he was always kind to me. We got attacked by an akromantula, it almost got each of us. But we worked together and killed it.” Hermione heard a sniffle from Hagrid behind them. “Cedric was still closer, he could have taken the cup on his own. Now that we know what happened, I’m sorry I decided we should take it together. Even though I told him to take it, he wouldn’t. He said I should because I warned him about the akromantula. He, he took it with me, and we were taken to a graveyard. Before we could do anything, Voldemort killed him. I, I couldn’t stop it. Neither could Cedric. You can’t block it.” Harry took a moment to compose himself and Hermione rested her head against his shoulder to show her support.

“I’m here Harry, take your time,” she whispered. He nodded in response and steadied himself.

“Cedric was a true Hufflepuff. He was loyal and brave, and caring. He wouldn’t leave me, and he wouldn’t take a victory even though he should have. He didn’t leave me, even though my leg was hurt. He was kind and good and the best of us champions. I wish I could have done something, but all I can do is tell you what a good person he was and hope that we remember to be like him. Regardless of what house we are in. That’s, that’s all I guess. Thank you.”

The applause was thunderous and Harry didn’t move at first. She looked up at him and saw the shock on his face. From the side, Cedric’s parents came up to them. His father and mother held each other as they cried but each took their time to thank Harry for his words and for being there with their son. When he attempted to apologise they shushed him.

“Harry, you didn’t do anything wrong. Please, as you said, just remember to be like him, and don’t feel sorry for something you couldn’t change.” Cedric’s mother said between tears.

When he turned back to her, his eyes were red and he was wringing his hands. Gently she embraced him whispering softly until he returned the hug. The headmaster seemed content to let the applause continue until Hermione led Harry back to the Gryffindor table.

“Thank you Harry for your words. I couldn’t have said them any better. Let us for now, fill our bellies and fortify for the day. It is always difficult to start the day as this, but you have always proven to be a resilient lot. For now, tuck in.”

\----

Don’t panic. Just because those runes make it so you can not transport out of here, does not mean they are going to kill you.

Right?

The young girl in her wished her mother was here to take control of the situation for her; but the druid in her knew this was her place, the diplomat. The first child of the high priest or priestess was raised as a diplomat, just in case it came time for the druids to leave their home. This child would travel the world to become familiar with customs and languages.

As it was, that traveling began at the age of seventeen, when a person’s magical potential was reached.

Needless to say, Daela had not yet had such an opportunity.

Please let this go better than the meeting with the minister.

The sea of grimacing warriors, that pretended to be bankers apparently, parted and a heavily armed goblin stepped forward. His arms were crossed and his black eyes watched her without blinking.

“Who are you,” he demanded.

“my name is Daela Ermaine. I am the daughter of the high priestess of the druids.” She thought it might be better just to answer his questions for now rather than potentially upsetting him.

As she spoke, the wall of amber light that surrounded her shifted to blue and pulsed with the cadence of her words. When she stopped speaking, it returned to amber.

Interesting. Trying to keep one eye on the goblin, Daela allowed the other to wander, trying to get a glimpse of the runes to see what they were doing exactly.

With a quick motion the goblin stepped up to the wall, glaring.

“Eyes on me druid.”

The wandering eye rolled back up to him, but otherwise she remained motionless.

“Why are you here?”

“It is time for my people to return to the awareness of the world. I have come here to seek a meeting with your leader so as to begin a dialogue once more. Our two peoples were friends once before. We hope to remain so.”

He spat on the floor.

“Friends do not abandon one another and hide like cowards.” The goblin gestured at himself. “I am King Veldur you may speak with me. Friendship child is shared when two peoples work together. We were abandoned to the magicals and treated like scum. Do you know what they call us?”

Getting the feeling there was more of a history here than she was aware of, Daela shook her head. “I do not.”

He sneered. “They call us magical creatures. Creatures, druid, creatures.”

She felt the blood drain from her face. Oh dear.

“Yes, it is terrible. Some of them are nice enough, but slowly more and more laws appear tightening the noose on, us animals.”

Rage burned in his eyes and the crowd was growling restless and agitated. They maintained their positions but she could hear small movements and utterances.

The problem with hiding yourself away was that even when bad things started to happen, you didn’t always learn about it. They had left the world as a whole for good reasons, but now it seemed that being let back in might be more difficult than her mother had initially thought.

Ah well, at least if she survived this would be considered decent training in the end.

She had to get out of here first without starting a war, which seemed completely likely at the present.

“That will be remedied. I will honestly say that we were unaware of how, inhumane matters have become, but I promise you that we will be ensuring that everyone is treated equally, as people, regardless of genetic make.”

King Veldur considered her for a moment. “Brave words. But tell me child. Why did your people run to the shadows in the first place and leave us to this mess.”

“We were on the verge of war with the wizarding world. As a people, we were labeled as having dark magic simply because we did not use a foci and because we use ritual magic rather frequently. The last thing we ever want is war. And yet, war is what is happening now regardless. The only difference is that now we have a chance to change the minds of the people and show them that our magic is not evil. Perhaps if they see how much we could counter this false lord they might consider shifting their views for the sake of their own survival.” She spoke more slowly now, as this part was not prepared. “We are very displeased with how you have been treated and will do all we can to alter their views to better understand your people. I am certain that we do not know all that has happened, but I am willing to learn and share with my people. Have you interest in our offer?”

King Veldur stepped aside with several other Goblins. She couldn’t hear what she said, but the majority of looks sent in her direction were no less sharp than the dozens of weapons aimed in her direction. Were they believing her? The amber light had turned blue when she spoke; could it be a manner of detecting the truth? How she craved to read those runes. That would require them to trust her though. Perhaps she could view her memory later, she might have seen the symbols without realising it at the time. The Goblin leader returned to her, his posture as forbidding as it had been when she arrived.

“We will accept the offer, but know that trust is more difficult to share than cooperation. If that is all, you may go.”

The runic circle sparked and sizzled before dimming and lowering the wall. She didn’t move however.

“One other matter. I would like to reopen our vault and withdraw some of the gold within as I will have need of it.”

The king showed his sharpened teeth. “It would be, our pleasure.”

At least they still had the vault and hadn’t melted down everything within it out of spite.

As much as she was glad this was over, what he had said in response to her offer was greatly overshadowed by what he had not. There was no trust between their peoples, something her mother would be taking the lead on repairing. Sometimes Daela thought the ambassadorial system of her people was needlessly problematic, but it wasn’t her place to question tradition. Perhaps it made more sense when the times were different. Working with the Goblins was something she had looked forward to, but that relationship would be moving much more slowly than she had hoped. Rightly so. Magical creatures? That form of classification placed upon sapient beings was infuriating. There was much work to be done there as well.

A short while later, Daela made her way up the cobbled alley toward the Leaky Cauldron in hopes of taking a room for the summer. She reached the unadorned archway and wasn’t sure what to do about it so she just jabbed it with a finger and a spark of energy. Bricks shuffled out of the way as if her finger would melt them and formed a large opening for her to pass through. Inside, the toothless barman, Tom, was happy to rent a room to her for so long. 

He’d better be for the amount she was paying him.

The room he led her to looked over the alley, which was exactly what she wanted. Daela had two months to acquaint herself with the culture of the modern wizarding world, and then she would be cast in to the society within the school, if the headmaster sent her letter. She had plenty to do during that time as well. Her first task was to make this room hospitable. It was so, bland and not close to any trees, which was irritating. What to do, what to do….

\----

The cellar of Malfoy Manor would do nicely. It had ample room for the ritual circle needed to complete the process, and any noise would be dampened by the thick stone of the walls. And, it was a cellar. What was more fitting for dark rituals than a cellar? Other than a cave, but he’d already used that one.

Voldemort twirled his wand and conjured a jar in his other hand.

“Wormtail.”

“Y-yes my lord?”

“I will need this filled with your blood.”

“All o-of it my l-lord?”

Ignoring the stupid question he shoved the container in to his servant’s hands and walked away, not before noticing the gulp the rat took upon seeing the size of the jar.

Good servants were so hard to come by.

Space expansion charms could not be used here. For the ritual space to be functional, it had to exist under its own power. Any spell modifying the amount of space or energy within the ritual circle would cause the magic to perform erratically. This space could be enlarged by other means, however this was all Tom would need for now. Once he developed a proper fortress, he could have a ritual altar designed to his specifications.

Wormtail would provide the blood. As weak-minded as the rat could be, he was still a Gryffindor at heart. His bravery was not in question, it was his loyalty. He would do what Voldemort demanded of him, and the Dark God of England would begin sanctifying his ritual space with the blood of a servant, willingly sacrificed. This space would be focused on his followers, a fitting beginning to a long-term solution. Wormtail always fulfilled his purpose, even if he didn’t know what it might be.

\----

Squeezed tightly between his two best friends, Harry allowed himself to ignore the chatter and consume his meal in peace. Granted, he was not focusing as much as Ron was who had already nearly finished his first helping, but he didn’t think he ever would. Hermione sat beside him, taking small bites of her meal even as she deflected questions for him. Harry hadn’t even had to ask her. And then the thought occurred to him that he might be using her. She always helped him and Ron with their homework and well, everything else. Did he thank her often enough?

“Hermione?” He kept his voice down but spoke out of the side of his mouth so she would hear him.

“Hmmm?”

“Thank you, I know I don’t say it enough.” It felt woefully insufficient.

Hermione favoured him with a smile. “You’re welcome Harry.”

It still didn’t feel like enough. He’d have to try and think of something nice to do for her. At which point his brain locked up because he realised he had no idea what girls liked.

Ron nudged him from the other side. “Oo gudda edat?”

Harry rolled his eyes and continued eating.

After breakfast, the “Golden Trio” made their way across the grounds to the tree by the lake and the shade offered by its expanse. Ron sprawled with his back to the trunk leaving Harry and Hermione to claim the roots, which were much less comfortable in Harry’s opinion.

“So, what happened last night then? Sorry I couldn’t be there this time.” Ron began.

Harry shook his head. “Yeah well, I don’t think it would have mattered if anyone else had been there except maybe Dumbledore.”

“He was really angry when you disappeared. At least I think that’s when he got angry. He and the other judges were casting loads of spells to try and find you I think. I was heading down to see if they’d tell me what was going on.”

“Yeah, Hermione, why didn’t you tell me. I’d have come with you.”

“Well, I didn’t know what was happening did I? Anyway, we had to meet with the Minister, so I doubt you would have enjoyed it.”

Ron nodded and stretched. “Oh yeah. How was that?”

“He’s a git.”

Hermione poked Harry in the ribs.

“Ow. You saw him Hermione. He wouldn’t listen to Dumbledore or Daela.”

“Yes well, he is the Minister still.”

“Who’s this Daela? Was she the bird who brought you back? I didn’t get a good look at her.”

“Yeah, she showed up just in time and distracted Voldemort until we could get away. It was brilliant.”

Ron’s mouth hung open. “She what?”

“We saw it in her memories too,” added Hermione. “she barely held him off. He’s really powerful.”

“Yeah, but she held him off?”

Nodding, Harry said, “Oh, and apparently he can throw fire from his hands too.”

“Wicked.”

“That’s not good Ronald. And you should’ve seen him, he did something where he cast loads of spells and they just hung in the air around him. And then he sent them after Daela. It looked like a swarm of bees really. I didn’t know that was even possible.”

“I’ve never heard of anything like that, and I’d think I’d have heard something with dad in the ministry. I wonder of Dumbledore can do it.”

“Maybe,” said Harry. He paused as Hermione tried to cross her legs and unbalanced on the bumpy surface of the root. His arm wrapped around her waist in support. He didn’t remove it.

“You should’ve seen it though. Madam Bones told Dumbledore to call Snape up and he comes in with all his truth serum thinking it’s for me. She was really angry.”

“Bloody git. Good for her, maybe they’ll have to sack him.”

“Language Ronald.”

The Ronald in question just rolled his eyes, then seemed to notice Harry’s arm around Hermione. He cocked his head at them. “What’s that about then?”

Damn.

About to withdraw his arm, Harry stopped when Hermione spoke up.

“He’s holding me up Ronald seeing as you took the only comfortable spot.”

Ron had the decency to look chagrinned. He held up his hands. “Alright, alright, sorry.”

Inwardly Harry was rather glad she had said something. Which begged the question of why he was suddenly okay with being in so much contact with her? Yes she was pretty, but it hadn’t started until the night before. It was almost like her holding him while he cried had broken the trend for him. Now he was suddenly realising how much he had missed out on physical affection as a child.

Strangely he didn’t feel sad about that. If anything he felt giddy that Hermione was happy to accept it and return it in kind. Did that mean she liked him?

Crap, too many questions.

Too many questions involving girls.

More accurately, one girl in particular.

The thought occurred to him that it was only two questions after all, so he shouldn’t really start panicking yet. The other half of him seemed to have adopted the persona of Voldemort and was monologuing about his inevitable doom if he ever tried to understand girls.

For once he felt the desire to read a book, particularly about how to deal with this crap; then he realised that the person he’d have to ask if such a book existed was also the one whom he had his arm wrapped around.

Damn.

He cleared his throat. “Anyway, Daela offered to teach us all how to use some of the kinds of magic she uses. What do you think mate?”

The redhead was hesitant as he responded. “What kind of magic?” Then he held up a hand and added, “The short version.”

Hermione’s mouth was already opened and Harry had felt a large intake of breath. She closed it and narrowed her eyes at Ron.

Harry decided to answer instead. “Well, she uses the elements like fire and air, but can cast the patronus charm differently. Its all wandless but it seems really interesting.”

Lips pursed, Ron seemed to think about it for a moment. “It sounds interesting, but you know me, I’m not so great at schoolwork. If you two are going to learn, why don’t you start and you can let me know how it is and I’ll see at that point. Deal?”

They nodded, but it felt strange to be intentionally going forward without Ron in this way. His friend had been the one to bring up the point which Harry thought was rather insightful of him. What else might be different about them as they grew up?

For a while they were content to sit in silence with one another. Gentle winds carried the sounds of their classmates scattered about the grounds and the gentle lapping of the lake against solid rocks lent a peaceful calm to the spot beneath the tree.

And Hermione was fidgeting.

Out of the corner of his eye Harry spotted Hermione flicking a finger against her knee in a small movement so it could barely be seen. He watched for a moment, then smiled upon recognising it as the same motion she used to flip pages in a book.

He gently shook her with the arm still draped about her waist.

“Hmmm?”

“Go on then, Hermione.”

“What?”

He pointed with his free hand. She looked down and blushed.

“Sorry.”

“Just because we’re all sitting quietly doesn’t mean you can’t read. Go on then,” he urged.

Without taking her eyes off him, she reached in to her bag and pulled out what was probably the largest book ever written, flipped it open with a deft motion, and smoothed the pages like a mother would the sheets of a sickbed. Then she winked at him and turned away.

A movement which allowed her to lean against his side while trapping his arm around her with her own.

Harry gulped.

That list of two questions suddenly got a lot longer.

Somewhere inside Harry’s head, his Voldemort alter-ego was cackling insanely.

Maybe she was literally driving him mad.

\----

If she had to drive him mad to get her point across, then so be it.

At least, she’d rather not cause him to crack up, but Harry could be rather thick sometimes so it might take just that to get him to realise what was going on.

That had been extremely sweet of him to notice the tick she didn’t even know she had. He was obviously paying attention. In his own way he was just being Harry, but to her 15-year-old brain, he might as well have given her a dozen roses. Had he finally noticed that she was a girl?

“Ron?”

“Huh? Yeah Harry?”

“If you can summon your chess set, I’ll let you win a game.”

Ron laughed. “Hah, as if. Hmm, let’s see.”

Well at least Harry knew how to encourage him.

Only three failed attempts later, Ron’s chess set collided with him, bursting open and spilling 32 furious chess pieces across the ground. As it happened, those angry pieces decided that while Ron had caused the faulty landing, they might as well take their outrage out on one another.

Thus a chaotic pitched battle ensued beneath the swaying branches, accompanied by the laughter of the three friends.

Ultimately, the black pieces seemed to have the advantage and were currently chasing the fleeing white pieces in to the lake. Before the defeat could be finalised, Hermione pulled out her wand and, ignoring the vulgarities bellowed at her by 32 tiny mouths, directed the pieces through the air to land on the board.

Silence save for their dying laughter.

Sixty-four beady little eyes watched her somehow conveying disdain.

“What,” she demanded of them.

And suddenly those pieces saw fit to forget about her and properly arrange themselves.

Nasty little…

\----

The pleasant camaraderie they three shared that day bolstered them. They clung to it, each one differently, but with the same determination. Even the exams could not stand up to them that year, though Hermione was frantic as usual. Granted, she was calmer, that is to say she did not require the boys to study past 11:00 P.M. when she would normally have been more than happy to keep them until the early morning hours each night. And thusly, together, they survived the final week and made it to the train where strangely, Malfoy and his cronies did not disturb them. Harry was glad for this, but it felt odd, as if the end-of-year ritual had not been completed. Well, he wasn’t about to complain.

Their parting at the platform would have been normal, save for the extended hug and a blushing kiss on the cheek from Hermione. For his part, Harry’s cheeks felt like someone had injected them with boiling water. So when she went to pull away, he reached out and took her hand.

“I’ll write, okay? And maybe Daela will work something out.” He spoke quietly amidst the tumult, but she heard him.

Hermione smiled and squeezed his hand before moving off toward her parents. Harry located his bulbous relatives and, surrounded by uncle Vernon’s anger, he made his way to the car. Hedwig, knowing her plight hooted with frustration, likely believing she was being diplomatic about her desire to escape, which only irritated uncle Vernon even more. Honestly, no human should be able to turn that many different colours without having a stroke. Not that he wished it on his uncle, but that much anger couldn’t be healthy.

Then again, he did know several people who didn’t seem to have the ability to understand the meaning of calm.

Needless to say there was a “talking to” upon his return to Number Four. This was followed quickly by a few threats and rants which Harry ignored. It was always the same, why bother paying attention anymore? Contrary to his lack of attention, his uncle’s rage filled Harry’s dreams, interspersed with Voldemort torturing him in the graveyard. Apparently he had missed something important.

“Freak!”

His bedroom door burst open and Harry jolted awake, covered in sweat, panting, heart pounding. His throat was sore, he must have been screaming.

Uncle Vernon lurched across the room and his meaty fist knocked Harry to the wall. Harry tried to grab for his wand beneath his pillow but he was disoriented.

The loud snap of wood brought him to full awareness. In the dim moonlight he saw the two ends of his wand sticking up from his uncle’s fist in a poor imitation of “grasping for straws.” His heart fluttered.

“I told you boy! I have a meeting tomorrow, a big, important meeting! I won’t have you waking me up in the middle of the night screaming about your bloody boyfriend! Now shut up and leave us in peace.”

The two useless pieces of holly bounced off Harry’s chest and clattered to the floor. Broken. Empty. His only protection from Voldemort. His only access to magic. His wand.

The door slammed, and the fourteen year old boy, expected to defeat the dark lord, feinted.

The next two days were spent filled with misery and a complete lack of desire to bother eating. The Dursleys of course, fully supported this. Harry thought they might just hope he starved and save them all the trouble of taking the blame for it.

\----

As Hermione was the only of the two to respond to her letter, Daela went to visit her first. Having had the time to observe modern styles, she dressed herself more appropriately in a white dress speckled with flowers. Wearing all one colour was not apparently approved of on a consistent basis. Strange how such things mattered so much to people. Standing in the middle of her plant-filled room, Daela fixed the address given to her in her mind, then pulled.

Unfortunately she materialised in the driveway just as the postman was putting letters in the postbox. Daela turned at his startled cry and saw him sucking on the side of his hand which he had snapped shut in the door of the box. He looked at her, his eyes wide, then slowly raised his hands to rub at them. Daela bent the light around herself to become mostly invisible and when he looked again, his eyes passed right by her. Confused, the poor man finished his job and walked back to his truck, glancing over his shoulder every few steps, the poor thing.

Once he drove away, Daela allowed herself to become visible once again and made her way to the front steps of the well-appointed home. Dentists must be well liked, if the size and style of the Granger home was anything to judge by. She rang the bell and only had to wait for a moment before the door was yanked open by an eager Hermione. What she didn’t expect though was the enveloping hug she found herself in less than a second later.

“Oh I’m so glad you could come. I’m really excited to learn from you, and I’m worried about Harry since he hasn’t responded to my letters and the headmaster came by and told me not to write Harry, but I don’t think that’s wise, so even though I don’t want to go against him I think Harry is more important and we should see if we can help him, and oh I hope you can do something because…”

“Um, Pumpkin?”

The girl in her arms sprang away in an instant, removing the mass of brown curls that had been blocking Daela’s view to reveal the two people behind Hermione.

“It’s usually considered polite to start with “hello”, Pumpkin, but it seems that we’ve come too late to inform you of that eh?”

Daela smiled and Hermione blushed at her father’s words. The man gestured for Daela to enter and she stepped in to a broad foyer that opened to a comfortable looking living room.

“My name is Simon and this is my wife Ruth. It is nice to meet you. Daela I presume?”

She smiled at the kindly couple and dipped her head lightly. “It is nice to meet you as well, and yes I am Daela. Your daughter is very, kind.”

Hermione blushed again and rolled her eyes. “Alright, is everyone all set making fun of me? I was excited and I’m worried about Harry.” She cut herself off as Ruth placed a hand on her hip and smiled predatorily at her daughter.

“Ah yes, why don’t we talk a little more about this, Harry.” Her eyes turned to Daela. “Have you met this young man yet Daela? He seems to be very, well, let’s say, prominent, in our daughter’s life up until now.”

“Erm.”

“Mum, now’s not the time.”

“Oh alright then, I suppose we can talk about it when we meet him,” Ruth said, colouring her sarcasm with a rather impressive pout.

Shuddering, Hermione turned to a rather entertained Daela. “Um, maybe we should just go, you know, I’m sure Harry is waiting for us.”

Simon extended a hand. “Alright, we’ll stop, but just, hold on a moment. Daela, Hermione says you’re only sixteen and yet you can practice magic legally?”

She nodded. “Yes sir. Amongst my people, we come of age at seventeen also, but due to my training as a diplomat, I was granted adult liberties at sixteen.”

“I see. So then, you are able to, apparate then?”

“We do not call it that, but yes, essentially.”

“Interesting. Well, Ruth and I would be fascinated to learn more about your people, but we can always set up a time to all have dinner. What do you think darling?”

“I think that would be lovely. But we will let you go. You two be careful and please be back before nightfall alright?”

“Yes mum.”

Hermione reached out and took Daela’s hand.

“It was nice to meet you both, I look forward to enjoying a meal with you.” She said in parting.

Daela recalled the address Hermione had given her and, remembering her recent error, ensured they were hidden from normal eyes before they transported to Harry’s home.

\----

Unfortunately they materialised on the sidewalk in front of an old man walking his dog. The canine in question proceeded to lose its mind, likely determining that he shouldn’t be able to smell something and not see it. Consequently his owner became confused and frustrated with his pet who seemed to be furious with empty space. Rolling her eyes at her inability to pick proper times and locations, Daela led Hermione forward to Number Four, leaving the old man to wrestle his yapping dog out of range of the apparently infuriating air pocket.

Hermione and Daela waited on the doorstep in silence until the man was far enough away to allow her to make them visible again. She pressed the doorbell and waited.

“It’s been three days, I hope he’s alright,” said Hermione. Daela could see her chewing at her bottom lip. Yes, she was worried too, but it had only been three days since they left school, things couldn’t bee too bad right?

When the door opened, they came face to face with a very large boy about their age who couldn’t seem to help but goggle at them.

And blush.

And shuffle his legs closer together.

“Erm, we’re here to see Harry. Could you tell him we’re here please?” asked Hermione.

Daela had never been dressed down by boys so much before she entered the modern world, and she found that for the most part, she did not appreciate it. At all. Especially by this one who seemed more interested in satisfying cravings than ensuring his life span passed 40.

Hermione cleared her throat and the boy shook himself. “Uh, the fre-he’s not been out of his room. But you aren’t from,” he gulped, “his lot, are you?”

Daela frowned but Hermione continued.

“I don’t know what you mean, but no, we’re just two normal girls who want to see your cousin. You are Dudley aren’t you?”

Dudley adopted an expression that bespoke of his highly doubting that two normal girls would ever want to see Harry for anything ever, but he clumsily shook Hermione’s proffered hand.

“Um, okay then, I guess you can come in.” He stepped back far enough to allow their passing and turned his head to call in to the house. “Dad, he’s got people who want to see him.”

From deeper in the house and moving closer Daela heard, “They’re not freaks are they son?”

Then around the corner came another large person who couldn’t possibly be feeling well considering the amount of body fat weighing him down on a constant basis. And with him Daela sense the hatred, the anger, the satisfaction, and she became properly worried.

\----

He lay on his bed, wand halves clutched in his hands, and allowed the quiet thrum of hunger to persist. It had long since passed from being an insistent scratching within him and was now merely a presence of need. One he had no interest in fulfilling. Why would he bother.

He heard talking from downstairs but it barely registered through the haze of despair and bleariness that infused his body and mind. There was hardly any energy in his body from lack of food, and why should there be? It’s not as if he could save everyone now.

Once again his door burst open and his left eye rolled lazily to the side to look at it.

That eye nearly burst with the inability to process what it was seeing.

Somehow he found the energy to allow his head to roll to the side to better view the inconsistency in his sorrow.

Two beautiful figures were standing framed in his doorway, Hermione and Daela, and they both looked furious. Daela’s deep blue eyes fixed on his and her eyes narrowed. In that moment, she began to glow. Not the same way she had in Dumbledore’s office, but with an inner light.

No lightning came from her this time, just, light and warmth. She marched forward and her hand touched his arm. Her voice filled both his room and his weary mind.

“You will not suffer so.”

And at her touch, that warmth suffused him, accompanied by peace. It did not remove his emotions, but merely overpowered them and took the foreground for the present. His body relaxed and for the first time in nearly three days, he didn’t feel alone. Her warm hands softly pried his from the tightly held pieces of his wand and she eyed them.

“I, I can’t do it Daela. He broke my wand, how am I going to…”

Hermione was there beside Daela, a finger laying itself across his dry lips. There were tears in her eyes, but her voice was firm.

“You, Harry Potter, are not alone, and should never have to feel like this again. We will help you, won’t we Daela?”

The young druid nodded then handed the useless wood to Hermione while offering Harry a hand up. He took it, and had to allow her to provide most of the effort as he had no energy left. So he leaned on her as she led the way downstairs while Hermione scurried about his room packing his few possessions. Harry wasn’t sure what he expected to find downstairs, but an irate uncle Vernon didn’t exactly surprise him.

Daela halted the man’s rant about children barging in to his house by simply lifting him in to the air with magic. Uncle Vernon stopped, his eyes bulging. With a slow gesture, Daela sent him floating to the side of the hall and out of their path. They waited for Hermione to finish, Harry too tired to find the situation entertaining.

Without incident, without another word spoken in rage, they walked out the front door as Daela gently lowered his uncle to the floor.

And just like that, it was over.

He had to be dreaming, right? Out of all the other opportunities his uncle could have broken his wand, why hadn’t he done it until now? This couldn’t be happening.

\----

The Dark Lord Voldemort was putting the finishing touches on his ritual chamber in the cellar of the Malfoy home. A week ago he had used Wormtail’s blood to place blood wards on the room, binding the wretched man to the vicinity and also ensuring his loyalty. As Voldemort was his master, he had control over the wards, and the man, if he could be considered one.

Only a few runes left to be carved in to the stone and his domain would be perfect but…

Voldemort’s wand screamed. It did not actually scream, but it felt as if it was certainly trying its best to. Shocked by this oddity he nearly dropped it when the wood burned with an intense heat. As soon as it had begun, it stopped.

What in the name of himself had just happened?

No matter what he cast, Voldemort was unable to determine what could have caused his wand to behave so. Nothing was different about his casting, so perhaps it was a fluke. He did not like unknown variables.


End file.
